Feral
by Lily Zen
Summary: A series of one-shots exploring one of my original RP characters, Feral.
1. Feral

Feral

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Gen

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mild gore, mild violence, character death, nostalgia

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: This is an original character for a game in progress.<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine…kind of?

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><p>Life in the fast lane wasn't all it was cracked up to be, she thought as she fished a pack of cigarettes out of her cargo pocket. The box was crushed and stained bright red along the lower corner. Blood had gushed out of her leg wound where a bullet narrowly missed something vital, soaked through her olive green pants, and run down into her boot. Of course the shot had come after she'd used her last slap patch on a teammate, and there wasn't enough time in the middle of a firefight to hop over to one of the other runners and snag one. So she'd bled, tying a makeshift bandage around her thigh to try and staunch some of the flow.<p>

She flipped the lid up on the cigarette pack, and pulled out a stick. The first one was too wet, and she cursed out loud to discover that the blood had soaked through. A good half inch of the tobacco and paper was ruined. The young woman tossed it in the rinky-dink trash bin under the bathroom sink, impatient fingers closing over another rounded end in the same package, and yanking it out. "Not bad," she shrugged, observing only a small, mostly round dot about the size of a pencil eraser on one side. It would dry by the time she smoked up to that point, she was fairly confident. With a morbid grin like the cut of a razor, she struck up her lighter and touched flame to tip, watching the red-orange glow flare as she inhaled.

She blew out smoke up into the cycling exhaust fan, watching it creep out slowly, transparent ribbons curling against the water-spotted ceiling, waving like the ghost of an octopus before they were sucked up into the ventilation, vanishing wherever unwanted scents went when they died.

Someone began pounding on the bathroom door. "Teva?" The woman's voice leaking through the hollow-core door rolled with the accent of Aztlan. Though she couldn't see through the door, Teva silently extended a middle finger in the air, and bounced her arm up and down in a little dance.

"What?" she replied waspishly.

"Nothing," the woman said hesitantly, "Only that you have been in there for awhile. I was worried something may have happened."

"Something already happened. This is the after-action, the shitty part," Teva ground out, and ran a hand through her short, boyishly clipped hair, the burnished gold strands sticking up after she'd dropped her hand.

"Oh. Well, yes, I know…" The woman's voice stuttered to a halt as Teva whipped open the door and glared at her roommate, exhaling a long, steady stream of smoke right at her. Maria's face took on a pinched look of displeasure. Teva suppressed a grin.

Maria looked like most Aztlans with golden brown skin and dark brown hair that she kept long. It looped and curled wildly, almost overwhelming her handsome features. Teva suspected she kept that long fall of hair even though it was so impractical in order to make herself look more feminine; she did the opposite, clipping her hair short to balance out the delicate look of her own visage. It was also more practical in a fight. However, Maria wasn't a fighter. No, not at all. Maria was an illegal immigrant from Aztlan living in the heart of the CAS, and since she was an illegal, she was willing to put up with a lot of Teva's shit. After all, it wasn't like she could go running to the authorities without drawing attention to herself, not even if Teva's work followed her home and blew a gaping hole in their apartment wall. That had been fun to explain to the super (gas accident in the kitchen; Teva was pretty good with arson incidences and staged that scene with an elegant touch). Thank god for slum lords; as long as nobody was injured he was content to simply patch it up, no investigation required.

Of course, if Maria had been a little smarter, she might have wondered why Teva had never bothered to report _her_ to the authorities, why she'd agreed to room with an illegal in the first place. It was pretty simple, really. Teva was SINless, meaning she didn't have any way to prove her existence. The less contact she had with the system, the better it was for all parties concerned. A roomie who couldn't call the cops was the perfect antidote to the situation.

She took another drag off her cigarette, and Maria rolled her eyes and walked away, taking the obvious hint that her presence wasn't wanted.

With a little chuckle, Teva closed the bathroom door once more. Balancing carefully, she placed one booted foot up on the toilet, bending over with her smoke still perched between her lips, and undid the laces with quick fingers, pulling them off the open-ended tabs and letting them drop, the double-knotted bow still tied. She then loosened the tongue, put her foot down, and toed off her boot, then repeated the procedure with the opposite foot.

Her ruined pants followed suit, and she hissed as the drying cloth pulled on her wound. A combination of adrenaline and magic had kept her from noticing it at first, but now that the battle rush was long past, her body was slowing, normalizing, and the pain was truly being felt. With a grimace, she shouted for the woman she shared her living space with. "Maria!"

"Que?" the Aztlanian woman shot back, her voice sounding far enough away that Teva knew she was in the living room.

"I'll take ten nuyen off your rent next month if you bring me the vodka from the freezer!" she barked, the sound at odds with the purr that years of living in Louisiana had given her.

The floor creaked in spots under Maria's footsteps, and the bathroom door swung open. A brown-skinned hand clutched the neck of a cold bottle of booze.

Teva tugged it away from her.

"Remember," was all Maria said.

"Yeah, yeah," Teva grumbled, waving her off, "I'll mark it on my calendar." Never mind the fact that Teva never used the calendar function on her comm. It wasn't that she had anything against calendars; she just didn't care enough to update them. The passage of time between jobs was boring, gray. Who wanted to be constantly reminded of the drudgery around them?

She unscrewed the cap and took a long pull straight from the bottle, then set it on the edge of the sink, using both hands to push and pull at the skin of her bare thigh. It hurt, which was good, and started bleeding again, slow oozing in time with her steady pulse. There wasn't any permanent damage, just torn muscle and a bullet lodged against her bone. That wasn't a hindrance though; no reason to put herself through hell by trying to dig it out.

The tap always took a long time to heat up, and she smoked as she waited, ashing in the sink, watching the charred vestiges of plant and chemical swirl in the water and disappear down the drain. Finally, when she judged it was hot enough—there was steam rising up from the sink—Teva stuck the smoking filter under the rushing water, letting it extinguish her guilty pleasure—not as guilty as you'd think; Teva tended toward an attitude of unrepentance—and balancing the butt next to the bottle of vodka. She took another heavy swig to brace herself, and then stuck her hands under the spray, refusing the flinch as her pale skin immediately reddened. Antibacterial soap and vigorous scrubbing, and then she grabbed the rough washcloth and wiped the blood off her leg. The iodine made her skin orange as she circled the wound like a bull's-eye with a white square of cotton, which she then tossed in the trash. She washed her hands again, and turned off the tap with her forearm.

On top of the toilet she'd laid out her supplies. The curved needle was soaking in a little cup, disinfecting, and she took it between her thumb and forefinger, and used her left hand to thread it. Teva's teeth sank into the lower lip of her rosebud mouth, eyes narrowed as she made small, careful stitches in her skin. Her breath hissed out of her nose, the feel of pushing the needle through her skin an excruciating torment that even she couldn't ignore.

Why not just go to a doctor? For the same reason she wouldn't report Maria; she was SINless. A hospital would tag her in a heartbeat, and her local connection had fled New Orleans after his employer found out about his nasty habit of using company supplies to treat patients for free. She was fucked until she found somebody else who could be trusted. Doc Wagon was the obvious answer to the problem, but Teva hated forking out the cash for something so minor.

By the time she was done, sweat was beading over her brow and at the edge of her hairline, matting her hair to her temples. She was shaky and nauseous. Hastily, she laid a couple gauze patches over the hole and taped it down.

When she left the bathroom, she left her pants and boots on the floor, and took the booze with her to bed, and deliberately did not look at her face in the mirror, knowing what she would see and where her mind would go this close to exhaustion.

Later on, drunk and numb, her mind went there anyway, and whispered the word she hadn't wanted to hear when she looked at her delicate features and the violet circles under her eyes; the bruises and blood, and pain carving deep lines around her mouth. _Tamsin_.

_I wonder if this was how Tamsin looked when she died_.

Teva squashed the thought, but after she passed out she dreamed of two girls lying with limbs intertwined under a patchwork quilt, giggles spearing the night as they told ghost stories in whispers while they ignored the strange sounds coming from the room next door.

They hadn't understood what a hooker was then, hadn't realized that their mother's many visitors weren't really her friends at all. Tamsin and Teva had watched the parade of men with innocent eyes. It wasn't until they grew older that they began to understand their mother's life, and why they did not have a father as most other children did. It wasn't until their bodies began to change and their mother hid them away more and more, worried over what messages a customer's lingering gaze sent, that they knew what it all meant.

Teva hadn't been fazed by it. Their mother was still their mother regardless of her career.

Tamsin had spiraled out of control, unable or unwilling to deal with the implications of such a thing. At fifteen, Tamsin fled their home on the outskirts of Tampa.

Teva didn't see her for almost two years aside from the occasional postcard, during which time she focused on training and growing her gift. At seventeen, she left home as well, and their aging mother whose beauty was growing tired with overuse and under-appreciation; she seemed to be perpetually exhausted now, but adamant that Teva leave when she shared her plan to track down Tamsin.

She caught up with her twin sister in Shreveport just in time to collect her blackened remains from the morgue. Teva hadn't understood much of anything that the coroner said except that evidently Tamsin had fallen in with some bad people. The brothel she was working at—oh, the irony—had mysteriously caught aflame, and the girls trapped inside had been burned alive.

Teva called her mother with the news.

No one answered.

She raced back to Tampa as quickly as she could, but it was a futile effort. Her mother had been taken into the authorities, where it was discovered that she had emigrated illegally from Romania. She was immediately deported.

By the time Teva was able to contact someone overseas her mother was also dead, perished due to untreated disease.

Cut adrift by so much tragedy in so little time, she had fled the place where she'd grown up and wandered the CAS in her crappy car, sleeping in cheap motel rooms and doing odd jobs for quick cash. When she ran out of money, she slept in her car; when her car broke down, she walked with her thumb out and her possessions on her back. Somehow, Teva found her way down to New Orleans, no money, no family, and no idea what to do next.

She couldn't remember exactly when she started shadowrunning. It wasn't like it was something she just woke up one day and decided would be a good career move. It was a gradual process, she supposed. Odd jobs led to other jobs, jobs that grew more and more particular, tailored to her skill set. It started with little things like finding someone who was lost—Teva was good at that kind of work. As time went on the jobs got bigger and bigger. It was right around her twentieth birthday that she was in her first big retrieval op; things went bad. She wound up with a pistol in each hand, a ring of dead bodies on the ground, and a couple of slack-jawed teammates. She got better at fighting, at dealing with combat scenarios; she got to be great with guns, and pretty passionate about explosives. At twenty-six, she felt practically like a veteran.

Teva Dalca snorted in her sleep and turned onto her side, one arm sliding underneath her pillow. The warm vodka rolled down the dip in the mattress and bumped her thigh.

In the hallway, a board creaked.

The doorknob turned slowly, and shuffling footsteps approached the bed.

In an instant Teva went from asleep to alert, and her fingers closed over the hilt of the knife under her pillow.

The air shifted in a way that told her louder than any words that her assailant was preparing to strike.

She moved first, bursting up, her hand a blur of movement as she flipped open the butterfly knife with a practiced flick of the wrist, and buried the blade in her attacker's carotid artery, ripping her open in a fantastic spray of red liquid.

There was the sound of something light hitting the bare wooden floor as Maria's body gave up.

Feral got up out of bed, surveying the carcass of her former roommate, and the small hypodermic syringe glistening in the dim light of her room. She toed the woman's body over her cheap jeans, and clucked her tongue. "Damn, now I'm gonna have to find another roommate."

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><p>-FIN-<p> 


	2. Money Talks

Money Talks

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Gen

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: hookers, sexual jokes

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: Another story about Teva.<p>

Disclaimer: Mine? Not mine? So confused when it comes to this Shadowrun stuff.

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><p>"Leave this to me," Feral butted into the conversation, "I'm fluent in Hookerese."<p>

Both men paused in their argument, and turned as a unit to stare incredulously at the woman on their team.

Her lean shoulders stiffened in offense. "What?"

"You…" The larger man began, a grin erupting on his large, craggy face. As far as trolls went, he was pretty good looking. If it wasn't for the ginormous ram's horns, large, pointed eyeteeth, and the gray-green color of his skin, Madden might have even passed as human. Granted, said human would have been very large—Madden was six foot seven, a whole foot taller than her—and built like the biggest linebacker anybody had seen in the history of ever. He also had the cutest little sprinkling of bone deposits that Feral had ever laid eyes on. She thought of them the way she thought of freckles on humans, tiny little accessories to liven up the look of otherwise boring skin. Maybe that was kind of silly, Teva acknowledged, and definitely far more affectionate than she'd have liked, but Madden had been one of the first runners she'd worked with. They'd developed what damn near constituted a friendship over the years.

Looking back on it, she admitted that Madden had intimidated her at first. She'd been afraid of his height, his sheer girth, the potential for destruction in that body. As someone who was usually the only woman on the team, Teva had grown very aware of the fact that she was a one-hundred and thirty pound girl. No matter what, no matter how much she jumped up her abilities with her magic, she was still only a one-hundred and thirty pound girl. She was always going to be seen as an easy target, and a lot of the guys she'd worked with, well, they'd left her under no illusions that running was anything but a boys' club. However, Madden had proven himself. She knew that underneath his hard exterior—literally—there was a fun-loving spirit, and a sensitive side that belied his fearsomeness on the battlefield.

He was unequivocally her favorite runner to work with.

The other man picked up where Madden had left off, sputtering merrily, "But you're… Oh my god, it all makes so much sense now."

She was starting to catch where this was going, and scowled at them, directing most of her ire to the smaller target.

Red—and that was his entire name for as far as she'd ever heard—was a slender elf with a long fall of fire-engine red hair that he usually kept in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was attractive in that way that most elves were, what with the pointed ears and the ethereal sculpting of his form. He was kind of an asshole, but in a funny sort of way. If it weren't for the whole 'way too metro' thing that he had going on, Teva might have been tempted to take him out for a spin. She wasn't into guys with mani-pedis, and more clothes than her though. That was just _weird_. Red was one of the vainest runners she knew, and pretty high maintenance, which often made working with him an unusual experience.

She'd once had to drag a wounded, heavily bleeding teammate out of a car and onto hospital property by herself all because he'd imperiously refused to get blood all over his new actioneer suit. She'd almost brained him. However, Red never treating her like 'the girl' of the team was pretty much his idea of being nice. It was almost—Teva cringed mentally—_sweet _of him. For that reason alone, and the fact that Red was one of the badassiest shamen she'd ever seen, he'd made the short list of runners she actually preferred to work with.

That didn't mean that when he burst out laughing she wanted to punch him any less.

"You guys are dicks," she snapped as Madden began chuckling too. Pushing herself off of the folding table she'd been sitting on top of, Feral stalked over to Red.

He took a quick step back, but when she did nothing more than hold out her hand, palm up, he relaxed. "What?" Red asked when she did nothing more than look at him expectantly.

"I need to borrow your watch," Teva replied sweetly. The look on her face was positively angelic. Too bad it was a bald-faced lie.

With a confused glance down at her—Red was monstrously tall too, though not quite as tall as Madden; he was only six-three—he raised up his left wrist and undid the clasp on the beautiful gold watch he habitually wore, the loosened band slipping over his hand as he let it slide off into her waiting grasp. "Just…be careful with it, okay?" he asked worriedly, and his concern for his material possessions was almost touching, she thought.

"No problem," Feral agreed easily. Just to watch him flinch, she twirled it on her index finger, and chuckled as he cringed. "You guys stay out here," she told them as she walked across the nearly-bare apartment they'd rented just for that run, heading for the closed wooden door on the right side of the empty living room.

"You just want her all to yourself," Red complained good-naturedly.

She flipped him off over her shoulder, turned the antique doorknob, and promptly shut out the two idiots on the other side of it.

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><p>Teva's first thought on the other side of that door was that she understood why they'd been arguing just for a chance to be alone with the escort. Her pheromones choked the air in the closed-up bedroom, and Feral shook her head to clear herself of their influence.<p>

She wasn't a lesbian. She wasn't really straight either. Truthfully, Teva didn't know what she was. Most of the time she just didn't view people as sexual objects, but then out of the blue she would see someone, meet someone who broke her out of that androgynous filter that she pulled over her eyes. She didn't like it; it was too much, too intense. Those seldom permitted feelings swamped her, turned her world upside down, and so she avoided them in as much as it was possible.

This woman, however…this _escort_; it was impossible to ignore her.

The longer she stood there with her back against the door, the more Feral began to scent the note of wrongness in the escort's overpowering presence. Somehow, the knowledge that this want she felt was synthetic enabled her to pull her mind out of the fog that enveloped it. She grinned like a warning shot, and stepped further inside, the soles of her broken-in combat boots making hardly a sound on the stained beige carpet.

The escort sat up straighter on the small twin bed, shifting in order to swing her feet to the floor.

Teva knew just enough about high fashion to be able to say that those red-soled heels were very expensive. She tightened her fist around the watch, hiding its splendor from view. "Tell me your name," she demanded of the dark-skinned woman.

Her hair was the color of midnight to go with that deep, dark skin, but it was shot through with metallic colored implants that made her look unreal, gold, copper, silver, and even a strange deep gray like tungsten weaving throughout her tight curls. The woman smiled and crossed her legs, her white mini-dress riding up her thighs. It was a move designed to get Teva to notice her, to lose her train of thought, but it didn't work. When her face remained impassive, the escort's mouth began to dip down in a frown. "It's Hecate," she finally replied, her voice thick and heavy with the bayou at night, moist and hot and buzzing with life.

"No, it's not," Feral replied, reaching for every ounce of patience she possessed. She stuck her hand in the back pocket of her worn, skintight jeans, and cocked her hip.

After a long moment of silence where she refused to repeat herself, Hecate sighed. "Lucinda. Lucinda Williams."

With a pleased smile, Feral told her, "And you may call me Feral."

"I don't get your name?" Lucinda teased, arching one finely shaped eyebrow with a little smirk on her face.

Feral shook her head slowly. "Nope," she replied, drawing it out and popping the 'p' like a piece of bubblegum. "I'm your jailer; I get to know your name, I get to ask the questions, and if I don't like your answers, I get to leave you here for as long as I want. Have fun pissing yourself." Turning on her heel, she strode casually back toward the door.

She was reaching for the knob when the escort shouted, "Wait!"

Teva glanced over her shoulder, arching her eyebrow in imitation of Lucinda's earlier expression.

"What do you want? I'll cooperate," Lucinda spat out quickly. She was standing now, perfectly balanced in those ridiculous shoes, a manicured hand reaching out toward Teva. The bright red paint on her nails looked like drops of blood.

"Sit down," Feral replied as she walked back to her prey. She was closing in, and the woman was none the wiser.

Lucinda sat once more, smoothing her dress down, and keeping her knees pressed together demurely. She waited without comment, apparently realizing that her normal tricks weren't working with this strange woman, this slip of a thing in a black tank top and jeans, the skin next to her left eye skewered with a tiny barbell. The various weapons she had holstered on her person looked at odds with her delicacy, but there was a steely glint in her eyes that said more than words not only did she know how to use them, but she had no problems doing so either. The escort knew when she was outmaneuvered.

"I want to know everything you know about Kim Lo-Chee, his gang, and their headquarters," Feral finally told her.

The escort, Hecate, gaped at her in shock. In a panicked whisper she hissed, "I can't! He'll kill me. Do you know who he is? Who _they_ are? They're Triads!" Her eyes grew huge, the whites showing like a panicked horse.

Feral, having had a feeling things were going to end up this way, quickly uncurled her fist, dangling Red's expensive gold watch in the air by a finger. "Do you know what this is?" she wondered idly, making a show of turning it this way and that so the dim light from the overhead bounced off of the metal and hit the walls.

Like a crow, Lucinda's eyes caught on the shiny object, and her panic faded as she watched the light sparkle off of it. She nodded slowly, and it took her two tries to speak, swallowing heavily. "It's—it's a watch," she stated, her voice small and awed.

"Yes, it's a watch," Feral agreed, grinning like a proud parent when their children have done something 'so advanced for their age.' "To be specific, it is an eighteen karat pink gold Cartier watch. This right here—" she tapped the edge of the watch face, "—is a genuine diamond. I'm not sure of the actual karat weight, but I'm sure you know." Her grin was wide, vicious, and unfriendly. "It's worth a lot of money. Enough nuyen that you could leave New Orleans, buy yourself a new life somewhere else, and if you tell me everything I want to know with exacting detail, I'll give it to you. You will walk out of here, pee in the toilet, and be on your way. Lucinda…" she paused, her tone becoming soft and warm, "You will never see me or Kim again."

Teva moved her arm just enough that the watch began swinging.

Hecate looked at that circle of gold and saw freedom. She opened her mouth and sang like a nightingale.

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><p>Three hours later after Hecate had used the restroom, and Feral blindfolded her, escorting her out of the building and to a completely different part of town—with Madden's help; Red was far too interested in the escort's assets to be of much assistance—they had enough information about Kim's gang that they could actually start developing a plan for taking them down. The local yakuza didn't want to get their hands dirty on this one, and they were willing to pay out the ass to get it done. Feral didn't really like the yakuza, but she disliked the Triads way more—seriously, those guys were douchebags—so she was willing to deal with them. After all, the Triads were moving into a lot of areas that Feral liked hanging out. She wasn't into watching her favorite merchants being shaken down for 'protection' money. There was no telling if the yakuza was going to be any better, but she could always kill them too if that's what it came down to.<p>

The three of them sat around the folding table, pouring over the rough sketches Feral had drawn up of the building layout, and other information she'd gleaned from Lucinda.

She chuckled again as she thought of the escort passing off her phone number to Feral as she got out of the car, and the flummoxed look on Madden's face. After the back door was shut, she'd shrugged casually and said, "Apparently she likes a firm hand…or nuyen signs. Not sure which, actually."

"Did you spank her?" Madden rumbled, his devilishly peaked brows climbing even higher on his forehead. There was a wicked thought existing in the curve of his lips behind those gleaming white tusks.

"Yep," Feral agreed cheerfully, laughing when Madden looked at her in shock, "Tanned her ass." She started slapping her thighs as she curled in on herself, shaking with good humor.

As Madden, Red, and Feral started talking about the secondary alarms in the building, and Feral huffed for the millionth time, "We need a tech!" Red finally asked the dreaded question…

"So how'd you get all this info out of her anyway? You don't really speak Hooker, do you?"

Pausing thoughtfully, she threw a beseeching look over at Madden.

He widened his eyes at her and leaned back in his seat, the metal folding chair creaking dangerously under his weight. It was his way of saying, 'You're on your own.'

Feral turned back to Red with a saucy smile. "Sure, I do. It's called nuyen signs."

Red was silent as he mulled that over, a slow dawning taking place in his mind. "What?" he murmured carefully, keeping his voice very, very controlled.

"I gave her your watch," Teva spelled it out for him. She figured she had approximately thirty seconds before Red attempted to kill her. It was a good thing she was a very fast runner.

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><p>-FIN-<p> 


	3. Chrysallis

Chrysallis

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Teva/OMC

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: romantic relationship between an underage character and an adult, light gore, mild violence, blatant discussion of paid sex, reference to human trafficking, implied reference to sexual slavery

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

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><p>Notes: Played around with Teva's timeline a little. Instead of leaving home at sixteen, she leaves just before her seventeenth birthday. This fit the events a little better.<p>

Disclaimer: All Shadowrun concepts are owned by the appropriate peoples. All original characters are owned by me.

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><p>Teva was fourteen when she fell in love for the first time.<p>

It was before Tamsin ran away, and they were both just kids struggling to be kids in a place that didn't want to let them.

Teva gave up first. She started hanging out in the parking lot of the local Stuffer Shack, smoking cigarettes and other substances with other neighborhood kids who'd grow up to be gang members and petty criminals.

It was there that she met Razor. He pulled into the parking lot on his motorcycle, and into a spot near her and her friends. She was sitting on a cracked curb staring at the sleek lines of his bike, the gleaming black paint and finely stitched leather seat, the heavy saddlebags hanging on either side. The cigarette in her fingers was going to ash unheeded.

The boys she was with—Mikey, Rodrigo, and Jones—snickered and whispered amongst themselves as the man in heavy boots and jeans swung off his bike and started pulling off his helmet. They eyed his saddlebags with avariciousness.

He set his helmet on the seat, and Teva's gaze shifted to his face, drinking in the sight of him. He wasn't the best looking guy she'd ever seen. His jaw was severely squared, his nose had been broken and healed crookedly, and his black hair was prematurely graying and needed a cut. However, there was something about him that snared her interest. Perhaps it was the shrewd wit in his eyes, or the way he moved like a lion, his head low, gaze constantly scanning the horizon for threats, his steps sinuous and self-assured. The specific reason was unknown to her then (though time had brought with it wisdom and clarity, and insight into herself; she understood now). He must have felt her intent stare, because the next thing she knew he was looking right at her and saying, "Hey, kid, you wanna make some nuyen?"

The answer, of course, was always 'yes.' She nodded, tossed her cigarette on the ground, and stood up, brushing her hands over her minuscule denim shorts. The thin, white wife-beater she wore was so long it almost hid the ragged hem from view, and underneath a red string bikini top shown through it. Her hair was long then, dyed dark with bleached locks interspersed in her mop of hair, painstakingly wound into dreadlocks by a black woman who lived on the first floor of her apartment building. She looked like what she was, a young girl trying to be too grown up.

The man reached into his back pocket, pulled out a five, and handed it to her. "There's ten more when I get back if you keep your delinquent friends, or anybody else for that matter, from stealing my shit."

She tossed a considering look over her shoulder at the three boys, turned back to the mysterious man, and shrugged. "Okay," Teva replied, slipping the five in her front pocket.

The man grinned roguishly and made a two-fingered gesture like a half-hearted salute. "Good girl," he said, and somehow the words meant far more coming from him than they ever had from anyone else. He turned and walked into the building, the cheap glass door jingling as he opened it and closing behind him with a bang.

Teva leaned against his bike, and dug out a pack of cigarettes secured in her swim top. The summer heat was cruel in Tampa, but she chain-smoked anyway, drawing the heat into her lungs. Her eyes narrowed as Mikey stood up, red-haired and gawky, a mean look on his freckled face. Teva blew smoke at him defiantly and waited, silently daring him to make his move.

"C'mon, Te, don't be a fuckin' bitch," Mikey attempted to cajole her. "You got your fiver; now let us have our fun. Ten bucks says whatever he's got in those bags is worth a whole lot more than fifteen nuyen."

Her head tipped slightly to one side as she pretended to consider the offer. Then she shook her head slowly. "Not gonna happen, M. Bad karma, you know."

Mikey took a step closer to her, and behind him Rodrigo and Jones lurched to their feet.

Jones was older than the rest of them, but a lot dumber. He'd failed the eighth grade twice already and looked to be going for a third. Of course, at least he got to go to school. Being human and a SINner had its advantages. Mikey had one too, and he was in high school now, waiting until he was sixteen to drop out of that lame prison.

Only she and Rodrigo were left behind, Rodrigo because he was an orc, and Teva because she had no SIN.

There was an older woman in their neighborhood. Everyone called her Gram. She'd taught high school history before the Crash, and before SINs became law. Gram retired, and started tutoring the kids in Tampa as her pet project, the ones that didn't or couldn't get SINs, but still had a desire to learn. Rodrigo studied math and science (he'd grow up to be a chemist selling his products to the local illegals distributors); Teva mostly wanted to read books. As long as it was a book, she'd read it from cover to cover no matter the topic. Her sister, Tamsin, liked to draw, and wanted to know everything about art.

It was strange the way her mind would wander just before a fight began. Mikey's fist tensed, but Jones swung first, trying to hit her from the side.

They didn't know that she was special. No one knew. It had started when she was eleven or twelve, right around the time she had her first period. It was just small differences at first, running faster than usual, catching things that fell off the table and counters before they'd hit the floor, which was probably why it took her so long to notice. It wasn't until she was thirteen, and Maddy Baker and three of her friends tried to jump Teva on the way home from Gram's apartment that she really began to pay attention to the changes in her. Maddy's on-off boyfriend, who was older than them all, already eighteen and out of school, liked to hang around outside of Teva's building, and whenever one of the girls came out he'd spend a long time talking to them and laughing. Teva didn't like him like that, and neither did Tamsin, but that didn't really matter to Maddy.

Tamsin wanted to stay at Gram's and study some more. Somehow, they'd found an old violin, and now she was obsessed with learning to play the stupid thing, so Teva was alone when she got jumped. Somewhere between getting hit in the head with a broken chair leg, and curling up on the ground while she got kicked in the ribs, something inside of her snapped. She pulled one girl's leg out from underneath her, and she fell hard, hitting her head against the concrete and knocking herself out. Then Teva swiped out with her leg, and another girl fell on her ass.

Somehow she was standing again—Teva didn't even remember moving—and swinging her fists at Maddy Baker while her friend jumped on Teva's back and pulled her dreads so tight that Teva swore she could feel the individual follicles being ripped out of her scalp. She reached behind her with both hands, and Maddy swiped her nails across Teva's face while she grabbed Maddy's friend by the neck, bent over, and flung her off onto the cracked sidewalk.

The other two girls got up, looked at each other, and by silent agreement took off running.

Maddy wasn't dissuaded so easily, and tried to knee Teva in the stomach.

Teva slapped away her pathetic attempt, and grabbed her by the neck, turning and slamming her face first into the side of a brick building. She ground Maddy's face into the hard, rough surface, and simultaneously felt and heard her nose crunch and give way. Maddy screamed, struggling ineffectually against the smaller girl's hold. Teva leaned in very close, growling in Maddy's ear, "If you ever come near me or my sister again, I will kill you…and I'll get away with it too. There are things living here that are very hungry, Maddy. No one will question it if your corpse is found half-eaten in the bay." She bit Maddy's earlobe very gently, tongued the golden hoop in her mouth. Closing her teeth around it, she jerked her head back. The thin flap of skin tore like paper as the little bar cut right through it.

Maddy yelled again, and started crying, and when Teva stepped away she slid to the ground.

Spitting the earring into her palm, Teva smiled, the bloody furrows on her face giving her a ruthless look. "I'm gonna keep this, okay? So you remember." She left Maddy Baker there, her and her friend moaning on the ground, and every day after that she wore the gold hoop in her right ear, and Maddy stayed far away from them.

It was then that she realized something about her was different. She was too strong for her age, too fast. Other thirteen year old girls would never have won a fight like that, four on one. No way, not a chance.

So as Jones swung his beefy, tanned arm at her, she merely shifted to the right, his fist whooshing in the air where she used to be. She flicked her cigarette at his face, and it hit him in the eye.

Then Mikey moved, and kicked out at her.

She danced back, and it glanced off her shin harmlessly. Then Teva dove back in the fray, and punched him in the throat, whirled and caught a very angry Jones with her forearm along the back of his head. Rodrigo was still hanging back, which was lucky for her because Mikey tried to get his arms around her from behind while Jones recovered and swung a ham-hand at her face. If Rodrigo joined in, they might have a chance, but as it was Teva had just enough room to duck and jab back with her elbow, catching Mikey right in the family jewels. He wheezed and dropped to the ground clutching his privates.

Jones looked down, surprised to find her on her knees. Then his grin turned oily.

Somebody grabbed her hair. She could only see him peripherally, but it was enough to discover that Rodrigo had slithered in there just as Mikey had gone down. There was a snicking sound, and something sharp pressed against her throat. She froze.

"Get the stuff," Rodrigo snapped.

But Jones was still looking at her on her knees, a hot promise in his dim eyes.

Rodrigo made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "I said get the stuff, you moron! You—" the blade shifted ever so slightly away from her neck.

Teva didn't give him a chance to finish. She wrapped her hand around his, the one with the knife, and twisted until it snapped.

His scream was amazingly loud and high-pitched.

She grabbed the knife before it hit the pavement, and lunged forward.

The small blade slid into Jones' abdomen. Blood immediately began to soak through his light blue t-shirt. He gasped, looking down at the hilt her hand still cradled, his mouth working but not a sound coming out. All of the strength seemed to be sucked out of his over-large body, and he slowly slipped to one knee. One of his hands went for the knife, touched her hand instead. It seemed to shock him, and his gaze jerked up, locking on hers.

Teva imagined she looked just as surprised as he did.

Finally he hissed the word, "Bitch."

That was enough to make her cold mask snap back into place. She smirked at him. "I told you to leave it alone." Teva took her hand off the knife, leaving it buried in his skin. "You should go to a hospital now. Leave the knife in if you don't want to bleed out." With a tired grunt, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She was reaching for another smoke as Jones stumbled to his feet and walked off, clutching his belly protectively.

It was just at that moment that the man returned. "Nice job," he said appreciatively, surveying the scene as he walked up with a plastic bag in one hand.

Rodrigo was making a sound like a wounded animal, and Mikey was staggering to his feet, trying to get the small orc up and away from them, throwing hateful looks in her direction periodically.

Inwardly, she shrugged. It wasn't like they were real friends or anything. They were just from the same neighborhood, all kids going nowhere in life. Might as well go nowhere together, they'd figured. Oh well. Now she was going to have to go nowhere by herself. No big deal.

"You've got potential," the older man commented idly, reaching into the breast pocket of a wrinkled chambray shirt. He pulled out a wad of cash and held it out to her. "Consider the extra a bonus."

She took it carefully, and hurriedly stuffed it into her pocket with the five he'd slipped her earlier.

The guy slipped his purchases into his untouched saddlebag, and swung his leg over the seat. "I'll see you around, kid," he said, and flashed her a dazzling smile before putting on his helmet and taking off.

* * *

><p>That wasn't the last time she saw him. Truth be told, Teva went back to the Stuffer Shack time and again hoping he'd show up. He would and they would talk for a few minutes, and then he would leave and she would go back to being bored.<p>

She found out his nickname was Razor, and he'd just moved to Tampa after living in Jacksonville for a long time. He was addicted to the little soy-choc and caramel candies they sold at the Shack. Other little details popped up, and she filed them all away in her brain like she was prepping to take an exam on the stuff.

She was infatuated.

Tamsin thought it was hilarious.

She laid on her bed, the bottom bunk, in a pale yellow sundress printed with tiny pink flowers, chuckling and making kissy faces. "Oh, Razor," she mocked, fake swooning with her palm to her forehead, "I love everything you are, everything you do. I want to run away with you, and have your babies even though you're old enough to be my dad." She cackled and rolled on her mattress, her long golden brown hair splaying out on the white sheets, legs kicking.

Teva glared, and hung upside down over the edge of the top bunk, throwing stuffed animals at her like missiles. When she ran out of those, she used her pillows.

Nothing, however, dissuaded Tamsin. She stuck her tongue out at Teva, her mirth irrepressible.

"Shut up," Teva finally huffed, "Just because you've never, y'know…"

"Fallen in loooooooooove?" Tamsin joked.

Teva rolled her eyes. "Just shut up," she sighed, and disappeared back up top.

The front door opened and closed. Mom was home. Her voice penetrated the thin walls, and a man's voice echoed hers.

The girls fell silent. Without a word, Tamsin got up and turned the lock on the bedroom door. The look of disgust on her face though did not go unnoticed.

Teva lowered her head back to her mattress. She didn't understand why Tamsin got so upset over it; it's not like it was any different from when they were little and the men were just 'mommy's friends.' Nothing had changed but them.

* * *

><p>Sometime over the next year, Tamsin changed. She started wearing a lot of black and fishnet. She got new friends, friends that Teva didn't really like, and began staying out late or not coming home at all. Somehow their roles had reversed, and now Teva was "the good one." She didn't like it at all.<p>

When Tamsin came home, Teva usually tried to stay out of the apartment because it was almost always a given that Tamsin was going to start fighting with their mother.

Nathalia Dalca was a small woman like her daughters with warm brown eyes and brown hair of a darker shade than the twins'. She wasn't old at all, having been smuggled into the country when she was only sixteen. She didn't talk much about her life before the girls were born, only to say that her mama and papa had died, and some people had promised her a new life in North America. Needless to say, 'new' didn't always mean better. She'd broken free of her jailers, and fled to Florida. At eighteen she had Tamsin and Teva, and had resorted to the only lucrative career available to her.

Teva understood that; Tamsin didn't. Perhaps it was due to Tamsin's more fragile nature. She was sensitive to the moods and opinions of people around her, and despite the area of town that they lived in there were still people who disapproved of Nathalia's occupation, people who spewed hateful words. Unfortunately, the twins often bore the brunt of people's disapproval or had to sit by silently as others derided their mother. For Teva, who was of a generally harder disposition, most of it didn't penetrate; it rolled off of her like water on a duck's back…and apparently right onto Tamsin, who was more prone to tears and rage.

Tamsin wanted their mother to be like other mothers. She wanted Nathalia to be normal; she wanted their family to be normal more than anything.

Teva was uninterested in being dragged into her mother and sister's arguments, and would take to the streets looking for something, anything to do. Sometimes it was a basketball game in the park. Other times she'd take the bus across the bridge to St. Petersburg, and spend time wandering the downtown district or the beach. There were a couple times when she caught Razor at the Stuffer Shack, and he'd give her a ride somewhere that she wanted to go waste time at, the first of which was a cool day in February.

She was heading for the bus stop with a cigarette in one hand, intent on getting as far away from their place as possible. Teva thought maybe she'd go walk in circles at the mall for awhile until she got bored, and then maybe hit up a nightclub once it was dark. There was a bouncer at Fade that thought she was cute and didn't care how old she was. The girl was bundled up in an old army jacket, big boots, and wide fishnets over teal tights to match the dreads in her hair now. Her skirt was an old parochial uniform rescued from a bin at the thrift shop, shortened, and decorated with safety pins and studded belts. Under her jacket she wore a black thermal and a corset she'd liberated from her mother's closet. Her make-up was elaborate and dark, drawn in anticipation of the dimly lit club.

Razor walked out of the Stuffer Shack, and she smiled when she saw him and waved. He grinned back at her and called, "Hey, kid, what's going on?"

The bus was a few blocks away. Teva saw it heading up the street. She turned her back on it, and walked over to the parking lot where Razor was sitting on his bike. There would be another bus. There wouldn't be another chance to talk to Razor, not until she saw him next, and with Razor there was really no telling when that would be. He kept weird hours and sometimes seemed to disappear for weeks. Better get her fix while she could before he vanished into thin air again. It wasn't like the mall was going to vanish in the next hour.

"Hey," she greeted when she thought she was close enough. Then because she couldn't seem to help herself about him, she stepped forward a little more. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Razor nodded, his gruff, stubbled visage seeming to soften a little as she came closer. "You?"

Shrugging her thin shoulders, Teva confessed, "My sister's fighting with my mom again. Gonna hide out at the mall until the storm blows over." Behind her, the telltale huff of the bus' engine grew loud, and then faded away as it passed her stop.

Razor inclined his head sympathetically, his chocolate colored eyes nostalgic. "Was the same way in my house too. Four boys all hitting puberty within a few years of each other spelled some rough times for my folks. Didn't help that some of us Awakened either. My brother, Sam, had an unfortunate tendency to accidentally shoot off fireballs when he got mad. We had an extinguisher in every room."

Teva chuckled, trying to imagine the scene. "Sounds chaotic."

"Oh, it was," Razor agreed cheerfully, then he patted the passenger seat behind him. "Hop on. I'll give you a lift."

She hesitated.

He raised his eyebrow at her and drawled, "Honey, you already missed your bus. The next one isn't going to come by for another forty minutes, and you aren't wearing much to protect you from the weather." The older man made a show of skeptically scanning her garments.

Teva stiffened indignantly. "Hey, I'm warm enough," she bit out, ignoring the way her skin was pebbled underneath her clothes. She wouldn't let herself shiver.

Razor's look turned scathing. "Didn't take you for a dumbass."

She rolled her eyes, and got on the bike.

"Helmet," her driver stated calmly.

Glaring at him, she jerked the bulky dome out of his hand and slammed it over her head. "Alright already, let's go," the girl snapped.

His chuckle rolled right through her as he took revved the bike and took off, plastering her against his back.

The sudden warmth she felt had nothing to do with skin and touching, and everything to do with what was radiating in her heart.

* * *

><p>Then Tamsin was gone, no note, no goodbye…just gone.<p>

And Teva was angry, betrayed, embittered…left to pick up the pieces of their shattered world.

It should come as no surprise that Teva sought out the mysterious and handsome Razor when everything fell apart. She wanted someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't flinch when she started to scream, who wouldn't cry or give pity or look at her like her feelings were a burden to them. Razor, in her experience, was utterly unflappable.

She found him not at the Stuffer Shack, but in the driveway in front of a small, beat-up looking house nearby. She'd never visited him at home, but with her mind so desperately fixated on seeing him, she'd combed the nearby streets on the off-chance that maybe…just maybe. At the very least Teva had figured it would burn off some of the rage seething in her chest.

Standing at the foot of his driveway, she had stared in wonder. Truthfully, she hadn't really expected to find him. The chances that he would have been outside at the same time that she was walking in his neighborhood were slim, if he was even home at all. But there he was, tall and muscular and lovely, in a grease-stained t-shirt and jeans, crouching over his motorcycle as he tinkered with it.

Razor stood up and looked over his shoulder as though he felt her watching, and his expression went from cautious to concerned upon recognizing her. "Teva?" he called, "What are you doing here?"

For some reason she looked around as though to make certain he was talking to her, then she turned back to him and shrugged. "Walking."

"Walking," he repeated slowly, and looked her over.

She had the sense that he was able to see beyond her fraying jeans and threadbare hoodie.

"Are you alright?" Razor asked.

Was she alright? Teva didn't know.

_Was_ she alright? As she ran the words through her mind they seemed to take on a different meaning.

Was she _all right_? No. "No," she said aloud, and as she did it occurred to her that was probably the truest thing she'd said since she discovered Tamsin was missing. No, she was far from all right. "I want to beat something to death." Though the statement was true, her voice was curiously detached.

Razor eyed her for a long time, then he waved his hand at her and said, "Come here."

She walked up the driveway, and they went into the open garage.

"Take your sweatshirt off," Razor told her.

She did, draping it over a stool in front of his work bench, leaving her in nothing more than an equally well-worn wife-beater. It may have even been the one she wore the day she first met him.

He shoved a pair of boxing gloves against her chest. "Put these on," he ordered, turning her by the shoulders until she faced the heavy bag dangling in the middle of the room, "Then go to town."

She managed to get one glove strapped on, but he had to help her with the other. Then he stepped back, and she threw a punch, and she kept going until she felt that strange pull as her specialness kicked in, and she went past the point when her body should have told her to quit all the way to the point where her muscles began screaming in protest, and her arms grew weak. Sweat soaked her tank top. Finally, the lid that Teva had kept on her emotions this past year gave way to a flood of grief, and her knees hit the poured concrete hard as she began to cry.

Through it all, Razor never said anything, never offered any platitudes or hugs. He merely let her cry it out.

When she was finished, she undid the boxing gloves and handed them back to him, and was about to slip her hoodie on again and go when Razor said, "Sit your ass down and drink some water." Accepting the bottle he handed her, Teva quietly sipped at the warm beverage, and felt a little better just being in his stoic presence.

* * *

><p>Unbeknownst to her, a pattern began to form, and they grew closer. Their friendship was a strange one, and not really socially appropriate so they didn't broadcast it. She was a now-sixteen year old girl, and he was a thirty year old man.<p>

The age difference didn't seem to matter. She needed him in her life, and for whatever reason he liked her in his.

Razor, whose real name was Joseph, took to teaching her self-defense and martial arts, and she soaked up the knowledge right alongside his attentions.

It never occurred to her to ask why and how he knew all these things, and why he was so good at them.

He taught her how to fight the right way with a knife, and she told him that Jones had made a full recovery from his knife wound two summers ago. The older boy had never told anyone what happened in that parking lot. Neither had Mikey or Rodrigo, for that matter. They were embarrassed that she'd owned all their asses, and none of them wanted it getting out that tiny little Teva Dalca had wiped the floor with them. Joseph had laughed, and told her, "You fought like a feral cat. It was fun to watch."

"You were watching?" she'd asked, not sure how she should feel about that.

Joseph grinned. "I'd have stepped in if I thought you couldn't handle it. I was about to after that kid pulled a knife on you, but you took care of it before I had to."

Teva blushed, a rare thing for her, pleased with the compliment.

Somewhere along the way Joseph revealed to her that he was an adept, which was how he'd known enough to recognize the power in her, and he became her teacher in that as well.

He was also a shadowrunner, which explained his frequent absences.

A lot of things about Joseph began falling into place, and with each thing she learned she fell deeper and deeper into her fascination with the man.

A month or so before her seventeenth birthday, he gave her a gift. He didn't wrap it or anything, just put it in the palm of her hand and told her "be careful with that."

She observed it curiously, turning it this way and that.

Joseph chuckled. "It's a butterfly knife. You've got quick hands. I thought you'd like it." He shifted his weight self-consciously.

Cautiously, Teva opened the handle, revealing the sharp, sleek blade hidden inside of it. She smiled. "I do," she reassured in a choked voice, and put the weapon away, sliding it onto the end table next to Joseph's ugly, plaid couch. Teva sprang quickly, throwing herself across the two cushions between them, wrapping her arms in a tight hold around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered against the scruff of his five o' clock shadow that never seemed to go away, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," Teva had repeated as she pulled back to see his eyes.

His arms had returned her hold automatically, wrapping snugly around her waist. "You're welcome," Joseph replied, his voice low, and his fingers flexed against her skin where her t-shirt had ridden up. A pink tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously.

Her eyes followed the movement, and she dragged them back up to meet his forcibly. There was a breath, and a pause, and a weight dropping to the pit of her stomach as all the want culminated in this one moment. The next thing she knew they…well…

Let's just say that Teva had never done anything without throwing herself fully into it, and it seemed that Joseph was the same way.

* * *

><p>Relax, the actual physical part of the affair was pretty short lived. It was intense and amazing, but like the saying goes, "all good things…"<p>

Joseph had been Teva's first love, and like an ignorant little girl she hadn't really understood what she was doing. She didn't know anything about men; she loved Joseph, but she didn't understand him. She'd never bothered to _think_.

It was a mistake that she always took into account when she considered romantic liaisons in the future.

The end occurred one night after a party on the roof of one of the neighborhood buildings. She walked home a little drunk, and a little high, smiling to herself.

It was probably just bad timing that had her going in as Joseph was coming out of the apartment that Teva shared with her mother, but the look on his face as he caught sight of her said better than any words just what he'd been doing there.

She'd refused to cry in front of him, had merely waited until he passed her in the hallway, her gaze accusing. Then she slipped inside the apartment, locked the door, said hello to her mother through the closed bathroom door, and locked herself in her room that she now shared with no one, and the loneliness surrounded her like a rock slide.

* * *

><p>Two days later she left Tampa for Tamsin.<p>

Teva never forgot the shadowrunner named Razor, or the man named Joseph, but she never saw him again either.

All she had of that strange time in her life was a knife she kept with her always.

* * *

><p>-FIN-<p> 


	4. WTF Is This, A Slasher Flick

What The Fuck Is This, A Slasher Flick?

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Red

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: swearing, violence, some romantical stuff

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

><p>Notes: I've been working on this for like a month. WTF is up with that? Why did it take me so loooooooong? It's not a very long story. I've written more pages than this in a day!<p>

Disclaimer: Not mine/mine. Yeah, that's right, you heard me.

* * *

><p>"<em>If you want to get anywhere as an adept, you've got to Initiate."<em> –Razor, adept, follower of the Warrior's Way

Feral hadn't ever given much thought to Razor's words all those years ago. She had made an effort to put her time with him out of her mind, despite the fact that she'd kept his token of affection for many years. Initiation was a word that other magic users had bandied about, more commonly referenced with external magicians like shaman, mages, and witches. Adepts weren't considered _real _magic users, particularly not by those who could shoot fire from their fingertips.

She scoffed. If those spell-slinging idiots ever came along for the ride while she was doing what she did best, they might have a different opinion. What she did was absolutely magic. Just because she couldn't manifest her talent with pretty sparkles and chanting didn't make it any less magic. When she felt the ebb and flow of chi, of _magic_ in her body, and directed its purpose, that was certainly a kind of spell.

When she began to feel the silent, watchful presence of Cat, her path started to turn from _just_ another adept into something more. Cat was with her when she ran and leapt; when she fought and tracked, and in any number of other tasks. Her totem began to define how her ability manifested itself. Teva learned to listen to Cat, and found herself rewarded with more power when she did.

So when Cat came to her in a dream, and told her it was time to Initiate, she listened. Not at first, because Teva was, in her heart of hearts, of an independent nature just like her mentor. Later though, after having her ass handed to her in a couple of scenarios, she'd decided that Cat's suggestion had some merit after all.

First, she needed to figure out exactly how one Initiated.

For that Feral turned to Red, one of the only magic users that she was personally acquainted with.

Red lived in a nice apartment in a converted warehouse located in the arts district. It was pretty much the opposite of Treme, where Feral lived, which she'd always thought was particularly ironic seeing how the French Quarter lay smack dab between their homes.

She walked up the sidewalk to the concrete entry, and rang the buzzer. Though Feral knew where Red lived, she'd never actually been there before. Naturally, Red's face showed puzzlement on the vid screen, saying, "Teva?"

"Uh, duh," she replied, rolling her eyes, flicking her cigarette toward the street. "Can I come up?"

After a moment's hesitation the elf replied, "Yes, of course," and unlocked the door.

She strolled inside the building, up the stairs to the second story. The hallways were wide, made from exposed brick, and lit with white, translucent sconces. The floors were tiled with something that looked like dark stone, and down the center was a plush carpet runner. With a little smirk as she thought about just how comfortable and luxurious Red's personality was, and how his home, of course, would match, she knocked on apartment seven.

Red opened up the door, and waved her inside, then stated, "Shoes off, please," before she could make another move toward the living room.

With a sigh, she glanced from her well-worn over-the-knee boots to his cream colored carpet. "You would have completely impractical carpeting," Feral complained. He just looked at her expectantly. She sighed. "Hold on," she huffed, going down on one knee. It was a complicated process getting this particular pair of boots on and off. The laces wrapped around her thigh about an inch from the top of the boot, so first she had to untie the double-knot and bow, and unwind the extra cord. Then she had to loosen the bootlaces from the top six or seven o-rings, wiggle the tongue, and unzip the short zipper on the inside of the boot that only was there to give her extra wiggle room to get out of the black over-the-knee combat-style boots. They were definitely more for fashion than function, but they were so broken in that Feral could do pretty much anything in them.

Switching knees, she repeated the process, then stood up again, balancing on one leg like a heron to pull off one boot, then the other. Feral placed them on the mat by the door, their tops flopping over lifelessly, a bit of chaos amongst the order of Red's world.

Grinning sharply at the elf, she stated, "There. Happy?"

He smiled. "Yes, thank you. Please come in," he said, leading her into the plush living room filled with comfortable, beige leather (or maybe faux-leather; she found it hard to tell the difference at times) furniture, deep mahogany tables, and burgundy and chocolate accents here and there. The lines were simple, elegant. The place was clearly a bachelor pad, but it was a bachelor pad with style. Of course. This was Red's home, after all. "Have a seat," he offered, leading her to the couch.

At first she perched on the edge of the cushion uncomfortably.

Red smiled and teased, "Before you launch into an abrupt dialogue about why you've come to visit me, please let me be a good host and offer you something to drink. So would you like tea or coffee?"

She shot him a look. "Coffee, of course."

He inclined his head, strolling into the kitchen. It was fairly big for an apartment, containing a nice-looking range and refrigerator, and some other cooking accoutrements. He had wine glasses hanging upside-down underneath the cabinets like in a classy restaurant or bar, a nice tea set that it appeared he used for more than decoration sitting in the open 'window' between the kitchen and the living room, and a gourmet coffee contraption that he was operating now.

The noise of the grinder was both jarring and soothing, and she shifted backward a little. The sofa sort of rose up to cushion her, inviting her back further until she was relaxed against the back. Then her legs felt a little odd, dangling as they were. She never sat on a couch with her feet on the floor. Teva brought them up onto the cushion next to her. The smell of coffee brewing—and she just knew it was the real stuff, not soycaf—lulled her into a sort of daze, and before she knew it, Red was setting down a French press on the conversation table, as well as a tray with two coffee cups, sugar, cream, and a small selection of cookies on it.

Teva raised one eyebrow. "Trying to ply me with sweets?"

Settling into an armchair, Red let loose a smug smile. "I have found you are infinitely more complacent when well-fed."

"Wonderful," she drawled. Then because she couldn't resist, she plucked a cookie off the tray, and nibbled on it. "Oh well, at least my downfall leaves me feeling satisfied," she murmured happily between bites.

Red served the coffee, black for her, tan and sweet for him. "So?" he asked after she'd made her way through two cookies, and sipped at her coffee.

"Hold on," she held up a finger, "I think I'm having a small orgasm." Taking another sip of coffee, Teva let the flavor explode on her tongue, and moaned. "You have got to get me the hook-up. I can afford to blow money on coffee this good."

Laughing, the Asian elf shook his head, brilliant red hair shifting and resettling. For once it was loose, a long mane down past his shoulder blades that should have made him look effeminate, but didn't. If anything, the long fall of hair highlighted the masculine angles of his face, and made him look wilder than when he wore it pulled back neatly. "Maybe if you start being a little nicer to me," he offered.

Teva smiled wickedly, and he just knew that he'd invited one of her flirtatious comments. "Sweetheart," she purred, "For coffee this good, I can be very, _very_ nice."

He hid a smile in his coffee cup, and neatly brought the conversation back around. Red knew that once Teva got started she was an almost irrepressible flirt. It almost made up for her snarkiness. "So what brings you here?"

"Mm, I need info," Teva stated, then glanced away as she shrugged and amended that. "I need help."

That smug smirk made an appearance, backed up with a singular raised eyebrow. "With what?" the shaman drawled, "It must be dire if you're coming to me."

"Shut up," Teva glared playfully, and stuck out her tongue, screwing up her face in a look of disgust like she'd just bitten into something particularly sour. "I need to know how to initiate."

All teasing left Red's face at this announcement, and became simple curiosity, perhaps with an element of surprise in it. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she snapped. "Cat says it's time."

Then Red did something that usually meant he was deep in thought, curling his fingers into a loose fist, and touching his chin with it so that his index finger just touched the curve of his lower lip. "She does?"

"He," Teva corrected automatically.

His eyebrows went up. They rarely discussed it, but Feral and Red shared Cat as their totem. Of course, it manifested differently for each of them. Teva theorized it was because they were such different people. In her mind, when Cat spoke to her, she usually saw a brown cat with black striping and huge, yellow-green eyes. It looked fierce despite its small size, and she knew instinctively that this was no house pet. Somehow, it always gave her the impression of a male, which she supposed was kind of strange since she was a woman, so she should probably identify with female deities more, right? Except she just didn't; in reality, Teva rarely got along with other women, and she wasn't exactly what one would call 'in touch with her feminine side.'

Whereas Red, the one time they had bothered to discuss it, had mentioned that Cat always appeared to him as a sleek, black cat, usually female, and looking vaguely like one of the ancient Egyptian statuettes in the museum, except when she appeared in anthropomorphic form, neither man nor beast, but some strange, yet deliberate mixture of the two.

She sipped at her coffee again, then admitted, "I don't know any other adepts, so I don't know how to do it. Maybe it's a little different than it was for you, but I can get some ideas at least, try some stuff out."

Thinking carefully, Red asked, "Perhaps you should meditate on it, and ask Cat for further instruction?"

Rolling her eyes, Teva replied, "We don't have that kind of relationship. He comes when he feels like it, says what he must, and then he goes again. I sincerely doubt he'll come if I call; he's not a dog."

"Well then, how can I help?" Red wanted to know, making a show of settling into his chair a little further to indicate that she had his full attention.

She glanced away, her eyes drifting around the room as she organized her thoughts, uncharacteristically nibbling on her lips. There were photos up amidst the tasteful art, she finally noticed. Pictures of family members and friends, one face recurring fairly often: a youngish woman with a flawless blending of Asiatic and African features. Her hair was inky black, falling straight down almost to her hips. Her eyes were equally dark, bearing the telltale almond shape of Asian heritage, though her skin was the color of cinnamon. The woman was very beautiful, she noted absently, and surmised that she was probably very important to Red. It occurred to her for the first time that she'd never thought to ask Red about his past, his life away from the job. She wondered uncomfortably if that woman was going to walk in the door any second, look at scruffy Teva, reeking of the slums, and shoot her a look of cool distaste.

"Teva?" Red prompted again when it seemed she was taking too long.

Snapping her attention back to the matter at hand, she offered him a wan smile. "Sorry, lost my train of thought. Um…so basically, yeah, how'd you do it?"

"The first time I spent a long time in meditation and when I was able to find perfect balance within myself, I was initiated," he told her. "I was still in university, and my mentor assisted me with the process. His help was invaluable. The second time I went into the city for nearly a month, eschewed all creature comforts, and put myself through a rigorous physical and mental regimen. Then one night I went to sleep, and Cat came and upped my power level."

"Interesting," she drawled.

"But not right for you, I think," Red stated, reading her face. "You're used to the streets. It would be no sacrifice for you. The point of the initiation is to challenge oneself. As an adept, your focus is on the physical, on action. Maybe you should try the meditating route."

"I guess," Feral said doubtfully.

Red hid his smile in his coffee cup at her apparent dissatisfaction.

* * *

><p>She tried meditating. For seven whole goddamn days, Teva tried meditating.<p>

It was the worst seven days of her life.

Feral called Red, and told him as much. He just laughed, and offered her a job. "Easy money," he said. "It's just a short trip to Lafayette."

She went, but only because she was so sick of meditating.

* * *

><p>They were in the fucking jungle. Okay, not the jungle; the bayou. And if anybody asked how they had come to be tromping around in the fucking bayou, Feral couldn't have told them. Two urban souls meandering around in the wetlands; it was altogether not good.<p>

"This is the stupidest job you've ever convinced me to do," Feral grumbled venomously.

Red's head snapped to the side, and he glared at her. He looked wild. His hair was tied back in a sloppy knot to raise it off of his sweaty neck, his suit coat and tie were long gone, shoved into the bottom of _her_ walking pack, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, the row of buttons flopping open down past the hollow between his collarbones and showing a sliver of pale, hairless chest. He was wrinkled and dirty, and both of these things made him incredibly crabby. His impractical loafers were probably pinching his feet by now, wet as they were with swamp water and mud.

Feral refrained from pointing out snidely how he should have listened to her, and worn more practical clothing. Her feet were still dry in her ankle high hiking boots and socks. Sure, she was a little hot in her jeans, but at least she wasn't dumb enough to leave her skin exposed to the creatures and unknown flora of the bayou. Her only concession to the sticky summer evening was the fact that she'd wrapped her summer-weight flannel shirt around her waist, leaving her in a white tank-top slowly soaking through with sweat, and her customary weapons holster. She reeked of bug spray, and that was after she'd dosed up on B-vitamins—an old trick she'd heard about from one of the senior citizens in town—and still she swore the little bastards were eating her alive.

Red, who reeked of sweat, faded cologne, and bug spray as well, appeared to be faring worse than she. He'd refused the vitamins, saying that it was purely an old wives' tale, and if she had any sense at all she'd do the same. After all, it might even make her taste more delicious.

Of course, he hadn't thought they'd be out there that long. Feral had a good sense of direction—unnaturally good, if he was honest—and a knack for finding her way out of tough spots. He had a way of dealing with people. It wouldn't take long at all. They'd find their quarry, truss him up, and take him in to the proper authorities. It would be the easiest 50k they'd ever earned.

Things had started to go wrong almost immediately. The man they were looking for with the bounty on his head was a paranoid schizophrenic, and he'd retreated into the swamp lands to hide after jumping bail on robbery charges. Red hadn't heard about this until they had already arrived in town, and agreed to do the job. That was when they thought it would be a simple matter of a little urban hunting and gathering, which he and Feral were both rather adept at. After being informed that plans had changed, they had looked askance at one another and mentally debated just how hard it could be.

Thus they came to be tromping through the bayou while Feral periodically stopped to make sure they were on the right track. For a woman who'd spent most of her life in the city, she was fairly good at all of this nature crap.

He found himself wishing she'd stop chiming the words 'nyah-nyah' with her smug, judgmental gaze.

Feral was a study in contradictions: sharp edges and soft curves, harsh words and tender touches. Not that he was often on the receiving end of them, but he had discovered through Madden that their little gunslinger had a healing touch as well. She was a strange woman, that was for certain. In some ways Teva reminded him of his former wife, though that was a comparison that he was reluctant to voice or even truly think about. Thinking of Maya at all was an activity that he had strictly barred himself from pursuing for the sake of his own sanity.

Feral sighed, and stooped close to the earth to examine some large breakage in the trees. It was growing too dark to determine which tracks were which, and she wasn't all that fabulous at it to begin with. At this point she was relying heavily on intuition to guide her. Glancing up, she dusted off her hands on her pants. "Animal tracks. We're losing him. We've got to backtrack, Red, and good god, it's almost full dark. I know that doesn't bother you as much, but since I'm the one doing all the hard work—_like usual_—we need to set up camp."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the elf quickly replied, "I am _not_ sleeping out here."

"Okay," Feral replied as she stood up, tone deceptively light and easy-going, "No problem. I'll just kill you, and throw your body in the bayou, no BFD. More money for me when I find this loon." She started walking back the way they'd come through the dense overgrowth. There was a spot she'd noticed a ways back that was on high, solid ground.

Red took the hint and followed without another word.

Her temper was close to the surface, rubbed raw with the sheer amount of bullshit she'd had to put up with today. Normally, Feral had a fairly good tolerance for Red and his endless…_him-ness, _but today had stretched her thin to the point of breaking. Things that normally didn't bother her, like the way Red almost entirely refused to do manual labor, were gradually making her insane. She'd carried their heavy hiking pack on her back by herself all fucking day: a tent, spare changes of clothes for each of them, food, bedrolls, navigational gear, bottles of water, first aid kit. That was in addition to her normal gear, her guns, knives, and a few standard lob-'em weapons. The only thing she'd insisted Red carry on his own—otherwise it wasn't coming with—were his magical addendums, and his own weapon, an Ares Viper that he wore on a shoulder holster underneath his suit jacket regularly, though he rarely used it.

"Fraggin' girl," she muttered under her breath, and finally dropped her pack on the small area of raised ground.

It was completely dark now, which meant Feral was as good as blind. That meant she was going to have to delegate the task of putting the tent up to Red. He wouldn't be pleased.

When he simply stood there looking expectantly at her for a moment, Feral lifted her lip in a snarl. "I can't see shit. You're going to have to put the tent together. I don't want to waste what little power we have in our lantern so I can sit out here and jag around with this thing." She kicked the heavy pack, and it scraped forward a couple inches in his direction.

With a heavy sigh, Red knelt and started untying the pop-up dome tent, snapping the poles together. He must have had more experience with camping than Feral would have attributed to him, because he had it up and airing out in no time. He tossed in their bedrolls and the rest of the pack, and crawled inside.

Resisting the urge to grab a rock, and just start smashing his head with it, Feral crawled in after him, and sank tiredly onto her sleeping bag. She closed her eyes almost immediately, and she fell into sleep lulled by the cadence of Red's crinkling ration bar wrapper.

* * *

><p>It should come as no surprise that since everything about this entire Run (which was supposed to be easy, let's not forget that fact) had gone bad, "bad" had to go to "worse."<p>

Out there in the darkness somewhere a twig snapped. Feral's eyes popped wide open. "Red," she whispered, and reached for the shaman, slapping weakly at his hand where he laid on his bedroll.

He grumbled and turned, mumbling, "What now?"

She smelled it the instant it was released from the grenade canister: knockout gas.

There was a flurry of noise and movement. The tent door was ripped open; Teva reached for one of the Security 600's she had on and fired; Red woke up fully and shouted something; somebody swore; the grenade got tossed in the tent. He tried putting up a barrier, but it was ineffectual. They were using modern technology to attack, not magic; Red's spells were practically useless.

Then they were coughing, gagging, and Teva pulled her knife, trying to cut through the back wall of the tent. Her struggles grew weaker and weaker, until they became non-existent. Her body went slack as unconsciousness claimed her.

Through slitted eyes she managed to catch a glimpse of a man entering the tent. He had waders on over his denim jeans, and a t-shirt with a very creepy smiley face on it. In his hand was a black hood, and he was heading straight for Red.

* * *

><p>She woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. The first thing she checked for were her weapons, all of which were gone, as well as the holster, and the belt it had been looped through around her waist. The next thing that occurred to Feral was that there was a thin, metal chain wrapped around her waist over her tank top. She checked to see how it was attached, and found a heavy lock holding it together. It must have been electronically operated because there wasn't a key hole or combination dial on it anywhere that she could see. Even if she had her PAN gear, Teva was next to useless when it came to that stuff.<p>

On occasion Switch would lecture her and try to explain how things worked, but nothing really seemed to sink in for Teva. She knew enough to operate basic functions, and that was it. It didn't help that if she tried getting too fancy with the tech stuff, she usually wound up horking. No, Feral and the nets did not get along. Never had she wished for a technical aptitude more.

The room she was in was very small, and there were no windows. It was impossible to tell the time of day. Aside from the twin bed, the chain bolted into the floor, and a bucket in the corner, there was nothing of interest.

The sound of a lock startled her, and she hurriedly flopped back onto the bed in an attempt to make their captor think she was still unconscious. The door creaked open and closed. Feral would have put money on the odds that she was in an old cabin given the scratched wood floors and old-style door. "Y' kin get up," a man's voice drawled, thick with the sound of the Louisiana bayou, heavy with menace. "Already know yer awake, _ange_." A large hand settled on her hip, a fingertip tracing the metal stud on her jeans pocket, then gripped, turning her hard and quick with an unbelievable amount of strength.

Feral yelped, rolling right into the man's legs, and hurriedly scrambled back until she touched the wall. She glared up at him, and growled, "What do you want with us?"

"T'ink a better question is what _you_ want wit'us, _chere_," the large man volleyed in return. "Me and my boys, we find you snoopin' on our property—"

So they _had_ been close. Feral fought against a surge of triumph, then decided she might as well give into it. Dude, she totally deserved it. She was fucking Ms. Outdoorsy Tracker Chick of the month. If she were a pin-up girl, she'd be wearing camo panties and wrapped provocatively around a hunting rifle. If she was a utility knife, she'd be Swiss. If…

"—wit' dat _dandelion eater, _and my son's name in yer pocket. Now, _petit ange_, we don' take kindly tah snoops." With a mean grin, he went on to say, "I'mma show you what we do wit' strangers 'round here…tomorrow night." He tipped his old baseball cap ever so slightly, and started to stroll out of the room.

"Wait!" Feral shouted, chasing after him, but only making it four feet away from the bed before she was jerked to a stop by the chain around her waist. "Where's the elf? Is he okay?"

At the doorway, the man stopped, his flabby, stubbled cheeks lifting with his grin. "Don' worry 'bout him, _chere_. You'll see him again, maybe, if yah kin find him; if he lives long enough."

"I don't understand!" she yelled, as he left the room laughing. The slam of the old door was loud in the nearly empty room. "Come back! Get back here, you coward!" At last, when nothing came of her yelling, she collapsed onto the bed with her head in her hands. "I gotta figure a way out of this," Teva mumbled under her breath. "We're in _The Hills Have Eyes_. Replace the desert with the bayou, and it's the same fucking movie."

* * *

><p>Sometime between trying to yank the chain out of the floor for the hundredth attempt, and screaming until her throat was raw, Feral got tired and crashed out on the bed, exhausted. When she woke again, there was a young man standing on the opposite side of the room. He looked scared, with long brown hair obscuring his small face, and a t-shirt that looked too big for him paired with jeans that needed a washing pretty bad. He had in his hands a bowl, and a bottle of water.<p>

With his big, brown eyes all wide and sad, he asked, "Y' awake, ma'am? Are ya…ya gonna sit there real nice-like so's I can put this stuff in reach, and not…not attack me?"

Feral inclined her chin slightly in a nod. The boy didn't look any older than sixteen, maybe seventeen if he was severely underfed. Of course, if he was really that underfed, his age could be anywhere from his early teens to his mid-twenties. What the fuck did she know about child development?

"Pa's out with Louis, so I thought I'd bring you and yer fella somethin' to eat," the boy babbled as he edged closer. "They don't really believe in feeding their captives. Pa says the point is to make 'em prove that they got the skills to survive, but I try to tell 'em they can't survive if they's thirsty and hungry. Pa just laughs, and don't listen. The point, I figured out—" Bending over, he put the bowl and bottle on the ground, and backed up fast. "—ain't to really give 'em a sporting chance. It's…it's slated so that Pa always wins. Anyway, eat fast, okay?"

The skinny, gawky boy started to dart out the door again, but Feral's voice made him pause. "What's your name?" she asked, getting off of the bed to go pick up the food.

The kid's eyes narrowed. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"So I can thank you," she husked, sitting on the edge of the bed with a bowl of what looked like cream of wheat or oatmeal in her hands.

A beat of silence passed, then he replied, "Francis."

"Thank you, Francis," Feral answered, scooping up the spoon toward her mouth. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked between bites.

"Guess so," the boy nodded.

"When you feed the magician, let him know I'm okay."

The door shut quietly behind him.

* * *

><p>In another room of similar size and décor, Red was being held captive as well. The only difference was that he also had a mage hood on, which was keeping him from using his magic to escape. The black device was a particularly brutal way of subduing a mage—developed by a magic user <em>for<em> magic users-and one of the only effective ways to do so. The mitts and cuffs kept him from ripping the hood off of his head, and even if he did…well, he couldn't see what he was doing. The nullification needed to be undone very carefully otherwise he was risking physical damage as well.

A door opened and closed.

Red shifted on the bed, wondering what was in store for him.

"You okay?" A boy's voice penetrated the thick, suffocating fabric of the hood.

He nodded slowly.

"Good. Brought ya some food an' water. If you promise not to go all hoodoo on me, I'll take yer hood off so's you kin eat."

Red didn't respond, wondering just what the catch was. Perhaps it was drugged.

The boy sighed. "Look, fella, ain't me you gotta worry 'bout. It's my Pa, and my brother. They, well, they got some fucked up shit in store for you. I'd suggest you take the food 'cause you're gonna need yer strength. Also, you know, that lady, she said to tell you she's okay."

"Where is she?" It was the first thing he'd said since he'd woken up in this place, wherever it was.

Hesitating before replying, he finally said, "In another part of the cabin. I brought her some food too."

"What do you want from us?" Red asked.

"Ain't me. I don' want nothing from you. It's my Pa, y'see… He's gonna let you out of here, you and yer girl, and hunt ya. Hasn't happened before, but maybe ya'll will be the lucky ones and escape."

"Or you could just let us out," the shaman suggested, and tried to put a little influence in his voice.

"No, no way. I couldn't do that. My Pa, he'd kill me. Geezus, he'd skin me alive. He don' take kindly to them kinda shenanigans. I ought to know. I'm not even s'posed to be feedin' you!" the boy cried.

A thought occurred to Red that he could just have the boy remove the hood for eating, and surprise him with an attack.

"'Sides, I don't even have the lock codes," his sympathetic captor mumbled.

And there went that thought, because if he couldn't get the chain off then any sort of attempt at escape was moot.

"Look, you wanna eat or not?" the kid snapped, obviously growing annoyed with Red's procrastinating.

The boy was probably right, he decided. He could use the food, and if the plan was to release them and 'hunt' them, then it was best to keep up his strength. Finally, Red nodded. "Take the hood off," he said, "But please refrain from ripping out my innards with it."

"I'm trained," the boy huffed. Some fiddling followed his statement, and then Red was blinking owlishly under the fluorescent light set high into the ceiling. He took his first look at his surroundings, noting the lack of windows, and truthfully, any furniture aside from the uncomfortable cot and a bucket in the corner. His nose wrinkled distastefully. He was _not_ using the facilities in the same space where he needed to sleep. That was just _foul_.

The boy in front of him was skinny, reedy almost, and had a dull look in his eyes. His spirit was broken, probably by the father that he was clearly terrified to defy. He wouldn't even undo Red's cuffs, just pushed the bowl a little further in his direction. "I'll be back quick. Eat fast. I never know how long they're gonna be gone." The door swung shut behind him, and locked from the outside.

Red took a look at the bowl of gruel, made a face, but picked up the spoon awkwardly and began to eat anyway. It was at that point that he really wished he knew some fire spells. As soon as he and Feral got out of this damn mess, he was going to get right on that. Chains would no longer be an impediment in that case.

* * *

><p>An indeterminate amount of time later, after the boy had come to collect his empty bowl and water bottle, and replaced the mage hood so that his family would not suspect what he had done, the door to Red's chamber opened again. Rough hands grabbed him up, and a needle pricked his arm.<p>

"Really? Is this entirely necessary?" he slurred as he fell unconscious once more.

When he awoke again, he was lying on the ground in the open air free of shackles and the dark, claustrophobia-inducing hood. He knew from the little that the boy had disclosed that his family intended to hunt Red like a giant deer, and kill him. That meant he had an opportunity to run. If, Red thought, he could get a little ahead of them, and hide someplace, he could outwait them. They might get impatient, and release Feral, thinking the lure of his partner would bring him back—it would, of course, but that was beside the point. If they were both free, they could join forces. Once they were out in the open, it was no holds barred. Red had the use of his magic back, and Feral was a weapon in and of herself. They could defeat two backwater, crazy hicks.

Three hours later, dirty, sweaty, and more than exhausted from running, Red was starting to doubt that. He was cloaked in an invisibility spell now, but damn, losing the humans had been harder than he'd thought. They had dogs for tracking, and an uncanny knack for picking up a trail. Red was a city boy. Going camping a few times in his youth didn't make him any better at survival tactics. He didn't know how to track or hide his trail, not really. It would have been easier if Feral was with him, a lot easier. She had a way of sort of scraping by in any situation.

He hauled himself up into a tree with thick, sturdy branches, and prepared to wait.

* * *

><p>Feral woke to a dog anxiously prodding her with its cold, wet nose. It was nighttime already. Somehow after being sedated again, her body had been moved, dumped outdoors. If they were planning to kill her, it was silly to give her the freedom to run. If they were letting her go, which she doubted somehow—Francis' fear had seemed all too visceral—then why not state that? And why the dog?<p>

He began barking, the high, ululating noise most hounds produced, and Feral cursed, knowing that sound for what it was—"I found the prey!"

She swept out with her leg, and kicked the dog away from her, springing up and starting to run through the foliage. Feral understood what this was now: this was a hunt, and she was the target. Fear slid between her vertebrae like an ice pick. What had happened to Red? Was he already dead? Survival forced her legs to move faster, the dog on her trail barking, nipping at her heels, trying to herd her.

In the distance, more howls resounded. She put on another burst of speed.

* * *

><p>Red heard the dogs coming toward him, and backed up a little further into the branches. It was a good thing for his elven heritage, otherwise he'd have missed the speeding blur about twenty-five feet off in the distance.<p>

He couldn't be sure, but the odds of it being Feral were pretty high.

Clambering down, Red hissed under his breath as a branch snagged his skin. It was long, but not deep. He started running in the direction he'd spotted Feral, not realizing that he'd smeared his blood on the tree trunk.

* * *

><p>One of the dogs closed in on her, and sank its teeth into her calf. She yelped, stumbling, and hit the moist, forest floor. Feral didn't really want to kill animals, but she would if she had to, if it came down to her or them. Rolling onto her back, she got her arms up in time to protect her face, and pulled her knees up, managing to kick two of the hounds away.<p>

An agonizing pain exploded in her arm. It wasn't their fault they'd been made to be vicious. They were just dogs. Kicking kept them away for a short amount of time, and she slowly started to scoot backwards, the dog still clamped on her arm.

A noise broke through the tumult, something soft and subtle, and then the dogs were being flung off of her, yelping and snarling. She bit down on a scream as that clamped jaw dragged through her skin and muscle.

Red slid to his knees in the muck, and curved over her, hands clamping over the massive bleeding coming from her arm. "Shit, Feral, can't you keep out of trouble for once?" he stated, though there was some underlying panic in his voice.

She laughed weakly, as some of the dogs began to recover and circle back around. "When you learn some useful spells."

"Useful? I'll have you know my spells are very useful," he replied snarkily.

"Not for this," she snapped back, and kicked one of the dogs sniffing closer, gearing up to howl again.

"Granted," he acknowledged.

"Look, Red, I know you've got something against conjuring, but we need to take these dogs out, make them go to sleep," Feral began, her voice higher than normal with urgency and pain. "And we've got to run. There's no way we can get out of here, and the guys are probably closing in." She grimaced as his hands held her skin together, and squirmed.

"You need healing," he panted.

"We _need_ to escape," Teva ground out, reaching out to grasp his shirt with her good hand, and shake him a little.

He looked at her, and his expression was agonized. "You don't know what you're asking," Red told her, voice that of a man in the most excruciating of inner conflicts.

Feral kicked another dog in the ribs, and got nipped on the ankle in retaliation. "Red, I need you to do this," she let out in a pained whisper.

Finally, he sighed. She was right, and he knew it. Their only way out of here was to pull from all their resources, and from the look on her face, Red gathered that Teva's heart was still a little too soft to kill dogs. He hadn't conjured since the accident where his wife, Maya, was injured, an innocent bystander in the case of a binding gone wrong. The air spirit had broken free of his control, and lashed out, enraged by the audacity of such a weak mortal attempting to enslave it; he'd been put in a hospital, and Maya had been permanently bound to a wheelchair, her body having rejected the bio-legs. He'd sworn never to conjure again, to meddle with creatures that did not appreciate being handled by metahumanity.

And now he was going to break it to try and save another woman. His fear was a great gnawing beast in his chest as he reached out with his magic, searching for spirits nearby. They were in the middle of the bayou, so the number of earth and plant spirits were high, as well as water. Red shied away from the feel of the air spirits, looping one of the earth spirits into his grasp.

It struggled against his hold, trying to force its way free. _I don't want to hurt you_, he thought at it. _Please help._

Somewhere outside of the ephemeral battle of wills, a gunshot sounded.

There was no more time to coax. Red ripped the spirit into manifestation, bound it to his will. "Defend us," he hissed.

The spirit reluctantly complied, casting a fear spell over the area. The dogs ran away in terror, and the humans quailed. A confusion spell on top of that had them so distracted they forgot to fire their weapons.

Red had Feral hefted up in his arms, and was running through the bayou before they could recover themselves. _Follow_, he commanded the spirit.

* * *

><p>Feral was barely conscious, the dog bites having taken their toll on her system. She was aware that she was being carried through dense green brush, but not where they were going. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the smell of sweat and fear, and the faintest hint of Red's cologne.<p>

Darkness rose up to encompass her before she could do anything more.

* * *

><p>The forest floor smelled sweet and loamy. Something tickled her nose, something soft and fuzzy. She batted it away. It returned, persistently running itself over her face. "Teva," a voice cooed, trapped somewhere in pitch between a man's and a woman's. "Wake up, kitten."<p>

Her eyes blinked open obligingly. She squinted up at the man crouching next to her; the very naked man; though he looked strangely effeminate, his shoulders narrow, chest small. His skin was pale like it was made of porcelain, face impossibly beautiful. When he grinned at her though, his teeth were small and sharp. His longish, shaggy hair was multicolored, tawny, brown, something with a little more orange in it that she didn't have a name for, and the faintest hint of blond highlights.

"Who…?" Her voice faded, and she eyed the man a little more closely. "_Cat_?"

He smiled. "Hello, sweetheart. I've been waiting for you."

The dangerous grin on his face gave her pause. "What do you mean?"

"Took you long enough," he purred, climbing off of her, moving from an animalistic crouch on all fours, to standing on his feet. "Though I should have guessed; you've always been a difficult child, haven't you?"

Shrugging, she carefully got to her feet as well, brushing the debris of the forest floor off of her. "Depends on your definition of 'difficult'," she stated in a carefully neutral tone. To date, this was the longest encounter she'd had with her totem, and as always, he made her wary. Cat always gave her pause. It wasn't anything overt; he'd never threatened her or deliberately put her in harm's way. There was just this feeling she got off of him, a vibe that said he'd just as soon bite her hand as he would purr under her touch.

Cat laughed, and prowled the edges of the little clearing, his very green eyes with their alien oval pupils locked on her the entire time. "No, no, Teva. We both know the truth of the matter, don't we? After all, I know you inside and out. You're one of mine, little kitten." He smirked at her. "You are such a headstrong little bitch. That's what I love about you. In this case though, I think you might be cutting it a little close."

Watching his slow stalk, Teva felt that strange feeling growing, the sensation of inevitable danger. "What do you mean, close?"

"You need more power, Teva," Cat hissed. "I tried to tell you; you ignored me like you usually do, and look what happened? Look what happened at Horizon; look what's happening here!" He was growing crazed, hissing and spitting, back curving as he circled closer and closer. "Why can't you ever just listen?"

Teva was so thrown off by the mention of Horizon that she didn't move until it was too late. Having her failures, her weaknesses thrown back in her face had accomplished what he'd set out to do; it made her hesitate.

Cat darted in, and hit her hard across the face, his claws carving furrows into her cheek. He was so strong that she fell without much resistance, but the shock of it was enough to snap her back to the reality of the situation. Hands catching herself, Teva pushed off the ground and spun away just in time to avoid a vicious kick where her chest would have been. The next time he swung at her, she was ready for it with a block, and a quick snap to his elbow.

"Cat," she leaped away yelling, "What are you doing?"

"Making you listen," he growled, somehow managing to hit several notes at once. Cat feinted, and struck her with his fist, then in the head so that her ears rang and she started seeing double.

Stumbling, Teva narrowly avoided another clawed strike, and decided she'd better take the offense unless she wanted to die here in the astral. She kicked his ankle out from under him, and followed Cat down to the ground, planting her fist in his face over and over. Then she was halted mid-strike by his grasp, like steel, stopping the punch inches from his face. He twisted so hard her arm snapped, bending her down to the ground with the pain of her broken limb. His other clawed hand closed around her throat. Grinning through the blood mask he wore, Cat purred, "There you are." He straddled her, tightening his grip until she could no longer breathe.

Right next to her ear, he chuckled. "Is this really how it has to be, Teva? Do you have to be forced?"

She tried to push him away with her good arm, but her strength was no match for his leverage. Her throat worked under his hand, trying for air and failing; her lungs were screaming in her chest.

Cat rotated his hips against her, and laughed. "You have some very odd little quirks in your personality, my dearest."

Bucking her hips against him threw him off for a second, enough for her to bring a knee up, and hit him hard where it counted with every man, even the metaphysical ones.

He wheezed, and growled, rising up off of her.

She used her knees to push him up further, slipping a leg between the narrow gap she'd made between her body and his, and kicked hard.

Cat went flying and she gasped for air, scrambling over to her mentor before he could recover. Teva grabbed his head between her hands, readying to twist his neck. Much to her utter shock, Cat started laughing, and applauding. He touched her cheek fondly and purred, "Very good, kitten. Very good."

Confused, she began backing away.

He rolled over coyly, dragging his curved nails through the forest floor, watching her retreat with amusement. "Do you understand yet?" Cat wanted to know. He clucked her tongue when she shook her head no. "You are strong enough. I chose you because your strength, your will to survive burned so brightly, it drew me all the way from the farthest reaches of this ephemeral plane. Your power is not in how hard you strike, Teva, it is _where_ you strike. A feline uses its wiles to escape danger, to hunt its prey, not just its claws. You needed to remember that."

Moving with a sinuous roll, Cat crawled to her, and gently touched her dirt-stained jeans with those delicate hands tipped with razor sharp nails. When she didn't protest, he rose up, and nuzzled her neck until she tipped her head back, breath coming out in a shaky sigh. Her mentor nipped at the bruises he'd put there, and poured his magic into her, healing the damage. "You are mine, Teva, now and forever. No one will defeat you, not if you fight with more than your claws."

Pulling away, he kissed her chastely on her forehead, and whispered hoarsely, "You've passed the test. Kill your enemies, little cat."

* * *

><p>The next time she woke, she was cramped up next to Red inside an old, dead tree trunk. Patting herself down quickly, Feral noted that her wounds were closed, healed up with magic. Whether it was due to Cat or Red, she had no idea.<p>

"Shh," the elf husked against the curve of her ear.

He must have done it. He must have summoned a spirit to save them. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't thank me," he said, "I was terrified the entire time. I'm still scared I'll lose control of it."

"The spirit?"

"Yes," Red agreed quietly, then hesitated. "Let me tell you about Maya."

* * *

><p><em>Maya and I were childhood sweethearts, and we married young, almost right out of high school. She was, simply put, my everything. I'm aware of how trite and overused that phrase is, but none the less, it applies here. We had a few years of wedded bliss together, and then…<em>

_I was in university, studying to get my degree in mystical theory when the accident occurred. _

_My mentor at the time, one of my professors, was rather adamant that I practice my skills in more than just a collegiate setting. Otherwise he believed that I would not gain enough experience. I complied by practicing at home. _

_It was on one such occasion that I conjured an air spirit, and it got away from me, turned violent. I was injured and hospitalized, and my wife, who had rushed to my aide upon hearing the commutation, was nearly killed. Extensive healing had to be done on her, but they weren't able to repair all the damage. Her spinal nerves had been severed, placing her forever in a wheelchair. It was then that I swore of conjuring ever again. _

_She was devastated, and knowing I was responsible for her injury seeded a deep resentment in her. It poisoned our marriage. Maya grew more and more miserable, and I, in turn, became more distraught as well. I tried to please her, really, I did, but nothing I could do repaired the damage between us. Finally, she asked for a divorce. I consented, though I still loved her with everything I had, but I was mature enough to recognize when I needed to let go. Staying with me was only making her worse. She needed a fresh start, and so did I. _

_That was when I turned to shamanism, and the naturalness of it helped me heal a little. At least learning the tradition distracted me from my miseries. Then Maya killed herself. I barely finished university, and I pulled away from my family, my friends. My guilt was too great a burden to bear. It had altered me forever. _

_It was around this time that I began shadowrunning. I had been accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and by shutting myself away from my family, I also turned away from their fiscal benefits. 'Running offered a lucrative solution to my problem, and had the bonus of being a life-risking activity. I suppose I thought I deserved to die, but I am not a man who could take his own life. That is…beneath me. Over time the desire to die faded, replaced with the certainty that someday I would, but not until someone worthy got the best of me. Still, I've never conjured again. _

_So I hope you understand the magnitude of what I just did, Teva. I hope you appreciate it._

* * *

><p>"I do get it," she whispered after a thoughtful pause, "And I'm sorry that happened to you and Maya, but you can't let it control your life forever. If necessity…" Feral swallowed; she could feel Red glaring at her. "If necessity calls for action, you're obligated to take that action unless your wish is to die."<p>

"Feral…" he paused, something heavy laying there in the silence, and said quietly, "We're not all like you. Not everyone is willing to do what it takes to survive, not if it means compromising their principles."

Feral had a very simplistic world view on that topic, and rather heartless when it came right down to it. She'd come from a fight-or-die kind of place. It had been her only guiding star for so long now that it was difficult for her to see past it. She did not, _could not_ understand people who would rather give up if the opposition was too strong, or if their ideals were in conflict with the necessary actions they must take. She was a survivor, a thriver-under-pressure type. So she said very coolly, "If you aren't willing to persevere, then you don't deserve the spoils of living." She said it even knowing that Red's wife had committed suicide, because on this she wouldn't yield, not even to make him feel better.

Survivors were ruthlessly practical.

Teva was a survivor.

"Now let's go kill these fuckers," she growled, and crawled on her elbows out of the hole.

* * *

><p>They followed the sound of the dogs, and Red used his spirit to cast a sleep spell on them, sending the dogs to the ground and removing them from the fray. After all, they were just animals. It wasn't their fault that their owners were shitty metahumans.<p>

Feral crept up behind the two hunters, but went for the older one first, the man who had come to her in what she now realized was a makeshift cell in his own home. Moving swiftly, keeping as low as she could to the ground, Teva popped up about three feet away from him, tapping the man on his shoulder.

He turned, his shocked face almost comical between his flabby, stubbled cheeks, and the yellowed pallor of a man who drank too much. The man began to fire his rifle, but she reached for the barrel, slapping it upward. The shot went wild, while she struck out with her other hand, breaking his trigger arm just above the elbow with a single blow in a show of strength heretofore unknown to her. Grabbing the gun, she spun it out of the man's limp grasp, bracing the stock against her shoulder. With the barrel in his face, he didn't look as menacing as he once had.

Without a second thought, Feral pulled the trigger.

The man's head was blown off in a shower of blood and matter. Some of it spattered her face and clothes.

She turned to face the other threat, but found that Red had already engaged and eliminated him.

Wiping her face off on her sleeve, she grumbled, "Easy money, hey?"

Rolling his shoulders in an eloquent shrug, Red replied, "Like I could have anticipated this. Fucking _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ shit, this is."

They paused, then both began chuckling wearily.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Feral announced when they'd calmed down.

Nodding, the shaman stated with heartfelt intensity, "Agreed."

* * *

><p>Dirty, bedraggled, and exhausted, the two of them finally arrived back at Teva's apartment. She was smoking before she even got the door open, babbling tiredly about a bath, and some booze. Red was nodding silently in agreement with everything she said.<p>

She fetched the vodka from the freezer, and grabbed a couple of shot glasses from where they were stashed next to the juice cups. "I mean, really, who does that shit?"

"Crazy people," Red replied, and raised his tiny glass up in a toast. They clinked gently, and drained the alcohol in one swallow. He gestured wordlessly for another.

Teva was all too happy to comply, refilling their little cups, and slamming it back.

They repeated this process a few more times, until both of them were starting to feel a little less keyed up.

Red sighed, and started to slide off the breakfast stool. "I should go retire to my own apartment. I think I'm wearing enough filth to clog the drain."

Chuckling, Feral came around the edge of the counter, saying, "I'll walk you out." As she was about to pass by him, she impulsively reached out and laid her hand on his arm. Looking up into his pretty almond-shaped eyes, she smiled. "Thank you. I know it hurt you to break that promise to your wife. You saved us though, and I think that's worth it. I think _she'd_ have thought it was worth it too."

Tenderness transformed Red's face, made its austere handsomeness into something more approachable. He touched her cheek. "Teva," he started, saying her name with quiet intensity, "I didn't do it for Maya. I did it for you, because you…your life…_you_ matter more than my principles." His thumb brushed her cheekbone very gently.

She was caught, staring into eyes the color of melted chocolate, weakened by the surprising softness of his gaze, and his touch. Red so seldom touched her. Teva reacted to it with a warm sensation starting in the pit of her stomach, and crawling up around her throat, like heartburn.

Red leaned down and kissed her, so softly it was barely a kiss, more of a question of _if_ he could kiss her.

Teva made a quick noise of surprise, and surged up on her toes, kissing him back.

The uncertainty in Red's touch disappeared at the eager response, and he began kissing her in earnest, voraciously devouring her, branding her with his lips and agile tongue.

She went limp in his grasp, and found herself boosted up onto the counter. Her legs hooked around his hips, drawing him closer. He tasted of adrenaline and vodka, bitter things, and smelled like sweat and forest loam, and the residual tangy scent of magic. Her fingers dove into his hair, tangling in the loose strands, and pulling a little until he made a low sound of need lost in the cavern of their conjoined mouths.

Hands gripped her shoulders, revealing a surprising strength. Teva panted, mewled sweetly and submissively.

Red pushed them apart, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon. "I can't," he rasped, stepping away from her. "I can't do this, Teva. _We_ can't do this."

Scrambling to catch up, she murmured, "What?" It seemed like they already _were_, like they _had_ been doing this for a long time now.

"The job, Feral. We need to focus, and I…I can't do that if you're more than just a 'runner to me." He shook his head, backing away further.

Her legs dangled off the counter top. She brought them up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees defensively. Suddenly, Teva felt more alone than she had in a long time.

But she understood. Against her will, she understood what he was saying, and found herself nodding. She murmured, "You're right. We should keep it…professional."

With a relieved look at her, Red nodded, and fled for the door. "Later, Feral," he breezed with false casualness. The door swung shut, and seemed to echo in the apartment.

Biting her lip, Teva staved off the hurt only with an act of will power. "Later," she husked to the empty room.

* * *

><p><strong>FIN<strong>


	5. About A Girl

About A Girl

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Switch/Ally, Feral/Red

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: cussing, some fluff, light angst

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen & Alex Kade

* * *

><p>Notes: Okay, so things you should know about this story. Alex and I invented this whole Shadowrun world based on a roleplay we didare doing, and it's kind of taken on a life of its own. We have been writing fiction for this world. This story is mainly focused on Switch, but Feral and Red do have a pivotal confrontation at the very end. Things in_ italic_ are Feral and Switch messaging each other back and forth. As they live in different parts of the continent, that's about the only way they interact with each other outside of 'runs.

Disclaimer: Shadowrun belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and I.

* * *

><p>Switch stepped into The Sanctuary, his usual wiz bar, and began to make his way to his favored corner table. As per every time he came there, Tack felt the need to say something degrading as he passed by. Prepared for the usual 'Not-a-man' joke, he was completely caught off guard by the bigger man's comment this time.<p>

"Hey, crip, too bad you got turned down on that last job, huh? Woulda made you a pretty penny. I know. I earned it instead."

Switch turned to him, a confused look on his face. "What job? And 'crip'? What does that-"

"You know, 'cripple.' Word's gettin' around about your little headache problem. Boston tried to put you on a gig, but the client thought you'd be a liability. Sorry. I handled it just fine, though. In fact, they'll probably call me back for another go; give me another chance to stuff my pockets."

Before Switch could think of anything to say, another voice cut in. "I heard they thought you were a lazy piece of shit and lowered your Runner score. Plus, you spent all your money on synthahol, you alcoholic fuck, and you didn't even tip."

The waitress - short, green eyes, with a bob cut that had one thick streak of red hair amidst the brunette that fell over her right eye - slammed a mug down in front of Tack. She was newer to the bar, and was already picking up a track record amongst the customers for speaking her mind a little too freely. If it wasn't for the fact that she was a genius when it came to busted gear, and also happened to be the business owner's niece, she probably would've been fired after her first week.

Switch, on the other hand, thought she was great. He liked that she didn't take shit from anyone, and that she caught onto the fact right away that he wasn't a drinker. Instead of making him feel like he shouldn't be in a bar if he didn't buy the booze, she would leave him with a glass of water, or the occasional ginger ale when the place actually carried it, and mostly let him do his thing in peace. He figured it was because he pretty much did his best to stay invisible and not cause problems, and was generally raised to be polite even to 'the help.' A little bit of kindness tended to go a long way.

"I didn't tip you 'cause you're kind of a bitch," Tack sneered, breaking Will out of his thoughts.

She leaned over and spat in his drink, shot Switch a half smile, and walked away, not caring that Tack was cursing at her back. Suddenly the fact that people were regarding his migraines as a crippling defect didn't seem so devastating anymore, and he realized then with startling clarity that he was becoming infatuated with this girl. Scratch that. He really, really liked this girl.

This was a problem.

The sudden revelation made him more awkward than usual, and he kept himself busy with his work the entire time he was there instead of making small talk. Small talk with a girl he liked always came out stuttery and full of stupid superhero references that nobody cared about. The only girlfriends he'd had in the past that weren't internet girlfriends only put up with him because of his father's money. Three semi long-term relationships of that nature were three heartbreaks too many, along with the occasional one night stand here and there where the girls apparently decided he wasn't worth the effort, making him even more reluctant to do the whole dating thing in the real world.

Things were different now, though. He wasn't a corper anymore, didn't have anything of any real value for girls to use him over. That meant if he was able to attract a girl it would be solely because of his personality...which was exactly the problem.

Leaving early, he dropped his overly generous tip on the table (was that too obvious?), said a quick goodbye, and left. Once he got home he paced back and forth in his living room a few times, debating on whether what he was thinking about doing was a good idea or not. It probably wasn't, but honestly it was his only real option in a situation like this.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down in his beat up recliner that he'd picked up cheap from a friend of an acquaintance, and linked in to Feral's comm.

Surprise, surprise, she actually answered.

"Feral, hi, I need...I mean, I don't need, but it'd be cool if...see, there's this bar and, um...well, since you're a...a girl, even though you're not really a girly-girl, but neither is she so it should be okay, and you know how I get all weird and awkward...which is pretty much like right now... Argh, why is this so hard?" He took another breath and tried again, the next sentence coming out in a rapid fire stream with no breathing in between words. "I really like the waitress at the bar, but I don't know how to talk to her; could you please help me?"

* * *

><p>"You need to stop calling me to bail you out of jail,<em> Sarah<em>," Madden drawled as he pulled up outside of her apartment building. "Better yet, just stop getting thrown in jail."

Teva slouched a little further down in the passenger seat, and tugged her gray fedora lower. This was ridiculous. "You're not my dad," she grumbled under her breath.

Madden spared a moment to glare at her in the midst of parallel parking. "Thank god," he huffed. "You're enough to drive a man to jump off a bridge on a good day. Your father clearly had the right idea in not stepping forward."

With a grimace, she exaggeratedly rubbed her t-shirt over her heart. "That hurts, Madden. Ouch. Gets me right here."

"Shut up," he growled.

"Look," she sighed, and for the fourth time prepared to defend herself, "It wasn't even my fault. The concert got out of hand, cops were called, and _everybody_ got busted. It was either let them take me in, or fight my way out with no weapons and a whole precinct of cops as witnesses."

"Cops were called because the party was in an abandoned building on _private property_, and they were not supposed to be there."

With a baleful glare, Feral unclicked her seatbelt, and popped the door open. "Yeah, you would choose to see it that way."

"When are you going to grow up, Teva?" the troll sighed.

Rolling her eyes, the young woman stated, "I am grown up. I'm just redefining the concept." Having said her piece, she leapt out of the vehicle before Madden could say another word, and slammed the door behind her. She unlocked the door to the apartment building, and took the stairs two at a time up to the seventh floor.

On the fifth staircase, her comm started going off, Will's information dancing in the corner of her gaze. "Yo," she answered, and didn't have to say anything more for awhile as he babbled like...well, like Will had a tendency to babble.

Finally, outside of her door, Feral gave into the giggles she'd been holding back. "Oh my god," she laughed, "This is awesome. You're more awkward than a prepubescent boy." She jiggled her key in the lock, and deactivated the security system to let herself in.

Upon closing the door behind her, she reactivated the system.

With a hint of sobriety in her tone, Feral finally said, "I don't know if I can teach you how to talk to girls, but I can try. Like you said, I'm not exactly normal. _So_...what's she look like? What's her name? Have you ever said anything to her before?" And then because she was an asshole, "Do you have dirty fantasies about her? Is that what makes you so awkward? Is it because when you talk to her all you can think about is that hot dream you had the night before where she was all naked and doing naughty things?" She should really not be so mean; she chalked it up to sexual frustration of her own. Maybe it was time to find somebody to scratch the itch with that absolutely would not be Red.

* * *

><p>Will literally felt his face flushing to deeper and deeper shades of red as Feral spoke. By the time she was finished he imagined the color in his cheeks had to match the red in Ally's hair...and that thought made him blush even more.<p>

"Never mind," he mumbled, and cut the line. He knew it would be a stupid idea to call her.

...But she was the only girl he knew that would really talk to him, that actually liked him for some unexplainable reason. Well, except Kiki, but she didn't count. She was a robot.

Huffing out a sigh, he sent Feral a copy of Ally's profile pic on The Sanctuary blog - a good one where she had her head cocked to the side, smiling innocently as she flipped off the camera. Along with it he sent a message:

_This is Ally. Yes, I've talked to her before, but only to order...or not to order...whatever. Basically, no, I've never had a real conversation with her. No, I haven't had any sex dreams about her because I didn't realize I liked her like that until today. And I'm awkward because I'm always awkward, especially with girls, especially now when I'm not rich and mildly famous, and basically have nothing to offer, and don't have a clue if I'm supposed to be reserved, business, polite-Will me, or nerdy, hacker, Switch-me, either of which will probably bomb completely because I'll either be too shy and quiet or too babbly about everything that adults don't give a shit about, and she's not going to like me anyway so I don't know why I'm even bothering._

He sat back and rubbed his hands over his face, then sent another message:

_She did give this asshole who's always picking on me a bunch of shit for calling me a cripple, then she spit in his drink. That's a good sign, right?_

* * *

><p>Teva wasn't too surprised when Switch hung up on her. She was kind of being a dick; that was her usual modus operandi. She just chuckled, and walked into the kitchen, yanking a beer out of the fridge. Some might say early afternoon was too early for a drink. Some might also say that Teva didn't give a fuck what 'some might say' about anything. Her metabolism was outrageously high. She'd burn it off real quick. Besides, Europeans were always boozing it up early in the day, and nobody fucking bitched at them for it.<p>

Twisting the cap off, she tossed it on the counter. Her comm let out a little beep to let her know she had a message. Will. Hm. She thought she'd have scared him off for good with that last bit of vulgarity. Granted, her brain was kind of tripping over the thought of Will plus sex; warning signs were flashing saying 'does not compute.' In her mind, Will was like a doll, smooth between the legs with painted on underwear, and that was the way it was staying, goddammit. (Her contrariness kicked in, providing her with a sudden vivid picture that made her spit out the mouthful of beer she'd just taken. Muttering to herself, Teva asked piteously, "Where's the brain-bleach?" Then she started laughing because as hilarious as it would be if Will was hung like a horse, his _ya-know_ probably was proportional to the rest of him...which was even funnier, truth be told.)

To distract herself, Feral opened up the image he'd sent her, took a gander at the girl in question, and replied:

_Dear Will, _

_The fact that she felt the need to defend you could mean any number of things. For instance, I defend you; I have no interest in your man-parts. Madden defends me (sometimes); he has no interest in my lady-parts. My point is, don't hang all your hopes on this one instance. It's unreliable. _

_She's cute though. My advice to you is stop being a princess, and talk to the girl. Don't be "corporate" Will or "incomprehensible babbler" Switch; just be yourself. Talk to her the way you would talk to me...but nicer. You should probably be a little nicer. Girls like that. If you get nervous, ask her about herself and let her do the talking. Then, for god's sake, _man up and ask her out_._

_Finally, report back to me, because if you can get laid and I can't (using my own advice!), I need to commit hari kiri. This is a very important step in the process. Don't fail me. DON'T FAIL ME, SWITCH._

_Sincerely, _

_Teva_

_P.S. Stop being a 'gina-whiner. "...she won't like me anyway..." Wah wah wah! With an attitude like that, no shit. BE POSITIVE. Walk in there with confidence; people respond to confidence!_

* * *

><p>Will mulled over the message for a second and called her right back.<p>

"Nicer? When am I not nice to you? Okay, except when you piss me off by calling the Matrix 'the nets,' and calling me a princess. I hate it when people call me a princess." He blinked. "Oh my god, she defended me because I'm a princess. That's why you do it, right? Because I'm the damsel in distress? I'm just like a...a...a drowning kitten to you people, aren't I? I can't be a drowning kitten! I should punch Tack myself next time, except I'll probably break my hand. That wouldn't be very impressive. Seriously, this guy is big, like Madden big...only not a troll, and there's a lot of fat over the muscle. He's more like football player big. I'd break my hand, and then he'd break my face, and she'd probably have to come to my rescue again. That's a terrible idea. I'm just going to ignore Tack like I usually do. Okay, so no punching, and just be confidant Will…or Switch. Be confident Switch, like the Matrix guy, but not Liberator Matrix guy. He's kind of a dick. Be the guy that I am in the Matrix during a Run when I'm not being Liberator. I can do that. I'll go in tomorrow and I'll do that, and then I'll tell you how it went. Does that sound right? Yeah, that sounds right. Thanks, Feral."

He hung up after that, feeling a little better about the situation, and completely oblivious to the fact that he'd essentially just had that last part of the conversation with himself.

* * *

><p>Teva didn't bother to tell Will that cats were actually really good swimmers, nor did she say that if she came across a drowning cat, she'd probably just let it drown and call it 'survival of the fittest.'<p>

"Thanks, Feral..." Switch said, and hung up.

Feeling very superfluous, she blinked her brown eyes, and murmured to herself, "Well then." Flopping on the couch, Teva kicked up her feet on the coffee table, and sipped her beer. "Yep, its official, the day Will gets more of a life than me is the day I should just throw myself off a cliff...wearing weights."

* * *

><p>Will stood outside the rusty door to the hidden bar for a few minutes trying to decide what hair color he should go with. Typically he kept his hood up so it didn't really matter that much, but he was hoping that allowing Ally to get a better look at him might draw some positive attention. Will Slate was becoming a problem of the past, after all, a persona he didn't have to try to protect nearly as much anymore. It probably wouldn't be too much longer before the memory of his general existence faded out completely. Such was the way of things in the corp world - if you weren't on top or involved in some major scandal, you were a nobody. Once he reached that status completely he could get some Erasers to scrub the world clean of any photo or mention of Will Slate, then maybe he could go back to using his father's name, or maybe he'd just be plain old Will with no surname at all. Not that it mattered. He changed his public persona once every month or so, anyway.<p>

He settled on a bluish-black color and stepped into the bar, offering his usual greeting to the man at the desk. It was Benny the goblin this time, a nice guy with an affinity for polka-dot bow ties.

"Hey, good to see your face a little better, kiddo," Benny smiled. "Maybe you want to stay out of the corner table this time? Mingle with the public a little?"

Switch shook his head. "Baby steps," he said with a grin as he made his way to his usual spot, the table that was always empty because nobody else liked sitting in the shadows.

Tack was at his usual spot, his chair always in the pathway that Switch had to take. It was the one big downside to having his own personal table.

"Wow, crip, two days in a row, and you forgot your hood. Things really that bad for you?"

Switch kept moving. "Nope, things are just fine," he answered as he moved past, "but thanks for the concern."

The big man apparently couldn't think of anything to retort with, so he let Switch by without any further trouble. Ally was right there almost the second he sat down, a ready smile on her face.

"Blue, huh? Wasn't there a little green in there yesterday?" she asked, plucking at a lock of his hair.

Will found himself talking before he could stop his mouth from moving. "Did you like it better green? I can change it back. Or a different color; I can do a completely different color, any color you want."

She arched an eyebrow at him, that familiar look that people gave him when he was spewing weirdness. He shut up immediately and turned away, wanting nothing more than to pull his hood back up over his face and dissolve into his chair.

"Magenta," she said thoughtfully. "Magenta with teal stripes. Can you do that?"

He let out a little laugh and focused on her request. It was harder doing specialized designs, but after a second she was nodding with approval.

"Nice. Just wanted to see if you could do it. Now change it back. That's way too girly. People might talk." She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was looking, and shifted her body to shield him better from prying eyes as his hair went back to a more manly color. "What'll it be today, Switch? Kris wrangled up some real lemons from I don't fucking know where if you want a slice in your water."

Will looked around at the other tables, noting the shot glasses and mugs full of wannabe beer. "Uh, can you get me a shot of...of..." He knew the bar's menu. There was absolutely nothing that sounded appealing to him in the way of synthaholic beverages. "...fruit punch..."

_Oh my god, I am so lame._

"Fruit punch. Wow. Going with the heavy stuff today, huh?" she deadpanned. "You'll definitely need that lemon slice, then. I will be right back with your order."

He thunked his head down on the table after she walked away and sent a little message to Feral:

_I suck._

* * *

><p><em>Try, try again, peanut,<em> Feral replied, then looked up across the table at the man seated on the other side. She smiled.

He smiled back.

The silence lengthened.

His smile cracked.

Teva sighed, and inwardly admitted defeat. "This isn't working, is it?" she asked aloud, though she already knew the answer.

"Not really," her date replied candidly, sipping on his drink.

"I'm so sorry," Teva emphatically apologized, slugging her drink nervously. "I thought maybe I could do this, but I just can't. I...I'm not..."

"Emotionally available?" he offered hesitantly.

Dropping her head in her hands, she replied in a tone thick with embarrassment, "That's the phrase."

With a little laugh, her date told her, "Don't feel bad. I've been where you are. Bad break-up, huh?"

"Something like that," Teva agreed softly.

"How about if we cut the date-like pretenses, and we order some beers, go play a game of pool, and commiserate. It'll be totally platonic," he offered.

With a short glance at him, she nodded her agreement. "That sounds good. Beer and pool. If we could throw some greasy pizza in there too, that'd be great."

He laughed, and pushed back his chair from the table inside the swanky restaurant, and she followed suit. "Sounds like a good night." They left their drinks on the table, condensation soaking through the little white cocktail napkins. They hadn't even gotten as far as ordering appetizers.

* * *

><p>Will got her message just as Ally showed up with his drink. Drinks. Drinks?<p>

"Thought you might want to go all out and slam down five," Ally remarked as she set the glasses down in a neat little row in front of him, along with a glass of water with its promised lemon slice. She also pulled a salt shaker off her tray, and sprinkled some of the white granules on her wrist. "This is how it's done," she explained, picking up the sixth shot glass that she had placed in front of herself, licking her wrist, and swallowing the punch down quickly. "Whoo, sugar rush," she said, shaking her head a little, then bent down to whisper at him, "The shaker's full of that caffeinated sugar stuff. Enjoy." She gave him a little pat on the head before turning to leave.

"Th-thanks," Switch stuttered a little too late, but he smirked just the same.

_Maybe I don't suck so much, after all,_ he sent back to Teva. He didn't even have to do anything to fix his last fumble.

Smiling wider, he followed her lead with the caf-sugar and the punch. It was a sugar rush and a caffeine rush all at the same time. He took the other four shots in rapid succession, then nursed the lemon-flavored water. It'd been a while since he had real lemon, and he wanted it to last.

But he also wanted to do something. In fact, those shots were already making him a little buzzy in the hyperactive way, which made for the worst timing when Boston's trid image appeared on the bar's stage.

"Hey, losers, I need three of ya for a job. No first timers. This one's a killer."

When Boston said 'killer' he meant it in the literal sense. It wasn't a 'kamikaze' (that would've been the Horizon Run's classification), but it was far from a 'cakewalk.'

Switch wanted it. He had something to prove, after all.

"I'll go," he immediately volunteered.

Boston hesitated. Boston never hesitated. "Switch, buddy, didn't see ya sittin' over there. Why don't you, uh, why don't ya sit this one out, okay? I might need ya around for something else I got brewin' over here."

Tack laughed. So did some of the other bar patrons. "Sorry, princess, looks like you're being benched," Tack teased.

"Don't call me 'princess'," Switch mumbled, apparently a little too loudly.

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you, crip?"

Boston spoke up before anyone else could speak. "Hey, hey, no one's bein' benched. Switch, I just got somethin' better for ya, that's all. Now does anyone else want this gig, or do I gotta go hit up the next bar?"

Tack raised a hand in the air as he sneered at Switch. "Yeah, I'm in."

Will got up to leave, not bothering to see who the other two volunteers were. More people snickered at him as he passed by, so he was unprepared for the hand that tugged at his sleeve. "Leave me the fuck alone," he snapped at whoever was grabbing at him.

"Fine, fuck you too, asshole," Ally snapped back and dropped her hand.

"Wait, Ally, wait, I didn't mean-"

She flipped him off as she stormed over to her next table.

Closing his eyes with a sigh, Will turned and left the bar.

_I just did worse than your stupid crossbow trap_, he sent to Feral as he started on his way to...somewhere. He was too buzzy and too pissed off to go home just yet. He needed to find something to do to burn it off.

* * *

><p><em>I see your stupidity, and raise it. I was out on a date with this guy I met a few weeks ago. Correction: first date. We got as far as ordering drinks before I realized I couldn't do this. He was really cool about it surprisingly, and asked if I'd rather just go hang out somewhere platonically, which is nice of him. We're playing pool now. I feel like a schmuck. He is soooooo not getting laid. <em>

Feral skipped the cue ball over one of the striped balls, knocking the eight ball into the corner pocket in a move that looked easy, and grinned when Aaron groaned in exasperation. Her cred account went up by ten bucks.

"You're a pool shark," he bemoaned. "I should have guessed."

With a chuckle, she replied, "A shark? No, I don't think I'm a shark."

She sent another message to Switch: _He really sucks at pool._

* * *

><p><em>I got laughed out of the bar and accidentally told Ally in so many words to fuck off. I think I win this round. Yay! -Sarcasm.<em>

_So now I'm about to sneak into the UCAS Botanical in the middle of the night to get her favorite flowers (that I'm allergic to, by the way) so I can apologize. Getting arrested for sneaking onto government property for a girl is sexy, right? Not that I aim to get arrested. Getting in and out like a cat burglar ninja would be better. _

_Did I mention I was high on caf-sugar? I am. _

_This is probably a really stupid idea. I'm probably going to get tazed. Maybe I'll meet a new girlfriend in jail. Named Frank. Maybe Frank will beat the shit out of Tack. I hope he fucking dies on that Run he jacked from me. Again._

_That was mean. I didn't mean that. I don't wish death on him. Just maybe some horrible maiming. Then I could call him a cripple instead, see how he likes it._

_That was mean, too. I didn't mean that, either. I'm just pissy 'cause I screwed things up with the girl of my dreams (no, not sex dreams, just regular romantic companion type dreams), and my Fixer's being a shithead._

_Since when are getting headaches after the job is done a problem, anyway? The Run's pretty much over when I log out! I could have a full blown migraine attack and my team could just leave me there if they wanted to, or put me out of my misery if they were worried about me falling into enemy hands or whatever. I'm not a liability after the Run's complete! What does it fucking matter?_

_Wow, I'm messaging a lot. I'm sorry. You're on your friend-date and I'm ranting at you. I'm an ass. I'm coming up on the garden grounds, anyway. There are some cameras I need to shut off... If I don't get back to you in the nearish future, I'm probably on my way to meeting up with Frank._

* * *

><p>With an involuntary chuckle, Feral said:<p>

_I'm not one to lecture you on avoiding the law. When you called the other day? Totally just out of lock-up. (Before you start accusing me of juvenile behavior too, let me just say that it was not my fault; just a wrong place, wrong time sort of deal.) _

_By the way, I think it's totally romantical that you're breaking into the botanical gardens to steal some flowers that you're allergic to. I would be a puddle o' goo, and I am undoubtedly made of sterner stuff than the average female. I would date you even if you went to jail and got a girlfriend named Frank. I might even beat up Frank to make it clear that those flowers were for me, g-d it, and he can't have them! Erm...you. [But mostly the flowers. ;) ]_

_What the fuck do you mean your Fixer's being a shithead? Dude, these fuckers clearly don't know jack about shit! __**YOU ARE TEH BESTEST HACKER IN THE WORLDDDDDDDDD!**__ And if anybody says differently, just dropkick them, or fucking pick up a chair and do it bar-brawl style...or hack the shit out of their shit and electronically fuck up their world. You're good at that. :D_

_HOLY EMOTICONS, BATMAN. I think I might be bored with this friend-date, or something. Or maybe I just feel kind of shitty since he's currently flirting _with someone else_. I think I'm double-contrary. I want what I want when I want it, but I also want the opposite of what I want; I want them _both at the same time_!_

Glancing up, she looked at Aaron, who definitely was flirting with another woman, and fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuckums, Teva was abruptly feeling possessive. Not in a sexual way. No, she still wasn't into Aaron like that. It was just that he'd been out with her, and she wanted some attention, dammit. He came here with her, and even if it was just as friends, then he should still have the courtesy to hang out with her.

* * *

><p>Despite trying very hard to focus on the cameras and the guards and the alarms and the unlocking of fences and greenhouses, Switch couldn't help but check Feral's message and smile at it. The thought occurred to him that he should just live on caf-sugar shots, like all the time. Clearly they were good for his self-esteem…or good at clouding his better judgment, which was essentially the same thing. Neither would help him talk his way out of going to jail when he inevitably got caught, he was sure.<p>

He was already starting to get that itchy feeling in his eyes, which meant that he was close to the tulip house, which meant he was probably going to start sneezing and completely give himself away. Shrugging, he continued on his mission. Feral thought it was romantic. If Feral thought it was romantic, then Ally would be all over it. They were a little similar in personality like that...but that was so not the reason Switch was into Ally. He just kind of liked stronger women in general. And ones who knew their way around the Matrix. Feral was a Matrix 'tard; he could never live with that, even though she did just make a totally awesome original Batman reference.

_Your coolness factor just went up by like a billion points for the Robin-esque exclamation. And for telling me I'm the best hacker in the world. Kinda needed that ego-boost. I don't know how to dropkick people, though. That's your thing, which you should do with that friend-date. Friend-dates still shouldn't flirt with other people. It's rude. _

_I might take you up on your advice and hack into Boston's system to prove a point, though. And Tack's. I can probably run circles around Tack. Ya know what, when I get out of jail I'm doing it. After I give Ally her flowers. If I can. Do you think they'll let me keep them when they throw me in lock up? Probably not. I'll have to come back here and steal more. _

_Geezus, I can hardly see my eyes are tearing up so bad! I'm going to sneeze. It's inevitable. Maybe if I run really fast they won't catch me. I'm good at running away. You've seen it. Just to keep the scales even, though, I think you should start that bar brawl with your friend-date while I'm running away from guards, and we'll see if we both make it out without getting caught. _

_Yep. That's a great game. "Let's both do something illegal at the same time and see if we can avoid the cops." Dad would be so proud. _

_Let's do it. Whoever gets caught buys the other dinner. Real dinner. If we both do, we owe each other. You in? Answer fast because I'm seriously about to sneeze, and that's pretty much when I should start with the whole running thing._

* * *

><p><em>Done and done, and thanks for the boost to my cool points; I needed that, I guess... Who am I kidding? I need an ego boost too! Keep the compliments coming. By the way, totally starting a bar fight right now. You better start running. I am not in this bet alone, pal.<em>

Teva put down her empty pint, eyed the guy next to her who was eyeing her, and eyed her friend-date who had totally abandoned her for Blondie McBigtits. (Wah, her boobs were small! Maybe that was why guys didn't like her...or maybe it was because she was better than they were at pretty much all things physical.) To make herself feel better, Feral growled at the guy sitting next to her, "What the fuck are you looking at, ugly?"

"What? Nothing," the guy shook his head and went back to his drink.

She sighed and picked up her glass. "That was the wrong answer," Teva stated cheerily. "You were supposed to say something defensive and derogatory that would give me an excuse to hit you. Now I'm irritated, so I'm going to hit you anyway." Then she did. In the face. With the glass.

After she had the bar fight in full swing and one combatant pinned to the bar with a bloody face, she leaned in real close and took a picture with him, sending it off to Switch with a cheeky caption:

_Wish you were here!_

* * *

><p><em>You just sent me incriminating evidence. I hope you know that.<em>

He sneezed, took a snapshot of the colorful array of tulips in his hand, then turned to take an image of the guards chasing him.

_Just to be fair..._

He sent the images.

_Note - those are Pulsar tasers those guys are holding. I am so going to get tazed. I also just realized I don't have anyone to bail me out when I get caught, lol. 'Carn's still kind of mad at me so he's not doing it. Not that it wasn't worth it. You hitting him was probably the best thing I've ever seen in my life, followed by the look on his face after you hit him. That should be a major compliment. I spent a lot of money seeing a lot of cool shit growing up. None of those things were as good as 'Carn face-punching day. We should do that again sometime with Tack. I really hate that guy. I probably owe you a hack on someone you don't like too. What about friend-date guy? I could spam his comm with porn ads all day long if you want._

"Oh, shit!"

He had to take a turn down a different path as two more guards started to come at him from the front. He ducked down as he heard the Pulsars go off, messed with the angle on the spotlights so they shone into the path behind him, blinding the guards, and grinned when it sounded like one of the guys had accidentally hit his colleague with the darts. He was having entirely too much fun with this, even with his runny nose and itchy eyes hampering his ability to flee properly. Teva was definitely a bad influence on him, and he couldn't say that he regretted it.

_I think I just made a guy taze another guy who wasn't me. Score!_

* * *

><p><em>'Carn face-punching day <em>was_ pretty fun. Your flowers are pretty!_

Teva heard sirens, and bolted over the bar, heading for the kitchen. Most likely there was an alley exit back there, and...

"Hey!" The bartender grabbed her arm. She punched him in the throat with her other hand.

...and sprinted out into the alley, leaping over trash and garbage cans. Behind her there came a squeal of tires, and the sound of 'stop or we'll shoot's. Teva jumped over a chain link fence, snapping a blurry shot mid-air.

_We're running! _

She landed on the other side, and put a boost on her speed, barely looking where she was going anymore, just dodging and running, snaking in and out of alleys, and when she got boxed in, climbing up a fire escape to the roof, taking on a new obstacle course. The night was turning out to be pretty fun after all.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Switch hissed as he was forced to run through the rose bushes in order to escape the last taser attempt. He hit the fence on the other side, finding a staff gate and quickly slipping through it before he shut and locked it behind him. He took an extra two seconds to scramble the security codes so the guards wouldn't be able to just key in and continue the chase, then dashed off down the street. The problem with that area of town was that there weren't a whole lot of places to hide, and he was sure the security guards were already calling in the cops.

Scratch that, they had called the cops. He could hear the sirens coming up fast.

_War wounds,_ he sent after taking several shots of the scratches on his arms and the long one that ran down one leg.

Seeing a flash of red light in the distance, he veered off the street towards one of the big warehouses, and began accessing the security code on the door as he ran. He got it open just as he hit it, launching himself inside as he pulled up a map of the building in search of the next exit that would spit him out beside the building next door.

"Hey!" a voice shouted.

Switch looked up to see one of the warehouse guards now coming at him.

"Oops, lights out," he murmured, and shut off the electricity in the building except for the codebox on the door he was aiming for, and toggled the light settings on his glasses. He took a night shot of his location as he passed right in between another couple clueless guards who were scrambling around in the darkness.

_Taking a little detour through the warehouse district. It looks like these guys are packing more than tasers. Better not sneeze now, huh?_

* * *

><p>Feral laughed, and made a six foot jump from one building to another, pounding up and down the slanted roof like a scene out of that old movie <em>The Matrix<em>. She took a picture of the rooftop view, and attached it to her next message.

_Nice war wounds! Remember, chicks dig scars. _

_I'm taking the high road now. _

The sound of the cops was fading away, falling behind her. This was the kind of work she excelled at, things where speed and flexibility were essential. The roofs were just a different kind of terrain, and Cat whispered inside of her, telling her which ledges would be the best to climb, which walls the easiest to scale. His excitement swept through her, tangling with her own. They ran together. The jungle was their home. The rough terrain of the city was no match for an animal whose instincts were to live in the trees and hunt in the tall grasses. The concrete and glass buildings were just different kinds of forest.

Teva leaped across a courtyard where she knew the gap was too large for even her enhanced skills, but took the jump on an angle, aiming for the flag pole in the middle. She got her hands around it, and then her feet. Grasping the rope, Feral used her own momentum to swing around and around, and when she judged herself quick enough, she cut the rope she wasn't using. Her body weight dropped her toward the ground, the circle widened out further. Her feet touched the brick of the opposite building, and she pushed up, her magic assisting her body in defying gravity. Teva ran over the wall, and jumped lightly down onto the roof, letting the rope go as she did so.

_Just did the coolest thing ever!_ She took a picture of the flag pole, and the giant gap. _Cleared that jump with the use of the flag pole in the middle, and some pretty incredible rope action. I am so awesome! _

Then she was laughing, and running again, just running for the pure pleasure of it.

* * *

><p>Switch kept very quiet behind a stack of crates, completely hidden in the darkness even when the flashlights passed over his area. He was grinning ear to ear, messing with the lights and alarm systems and cameras in the buildings all up and down the warehouse district. There was a pattern to his toying, an order of jumping from one building to the next, making it appear as if he were slipping through each one. In truth, he never left the second building. The guards weren't as on the ball in that one, so he'd tucked the flowers somewhere safe as soon as he'd slipped into the door, headed off in a different direction, and was just hanging out until the cops gave up and left.<p>

_Wish I could've seen that,_ he sent off in response to Feral's message about her daring flagpole escape. _I stopped running. We're playing a little hide 'n seek now. From the feed I'm getting on the cops' line, I think they're about to call game over. I win!_

Which was completely unbelievable to him. He had thought the odds would be completely against him in this one. Normally he'd thank lady luck, as she so often enjoyed stepping in on his behalf, but this time he had to give himself a little credit. He was doing some pretty impressive things with his whole improvised escape plan. He was better than fucking Tack.

He heard the order to call off the hunt, and slowly made his way back to where he'd stashed his flowers. He was just starting to feel less stuffy-headed too. Ah well, it was worth it. Ally would have to be impressed with his antics after this.

_You know what? I'm buying you dinner, anyway. I didn't do this kind of thing before I met you, so I think you earned it. I'm having fun. _

His smile grew wider as he casually strolled down the street back towards the bar, lighting the district back up as he moved along. Tonight was a good night. The only way it'd get better would be if Ally accepted his apology. He had a feeling she would.

* * *

><p><em>Yay, dinner!<em> She sent him a little image of an animated robot panda dancing gleefully. _Where are we having dinner? I'll even dress nice, and eat like a lady._

Before Teva knew it she was in the arts district, standing on the roof of Red's building. It was a nice roof. They had a sitting area up there, and a little greenhouse. Without stopping to think about what the hell she was doing, she called his comm.

"Feral? Do you have any idea what time it is?" he asked, his voice rusty from sleep.

"Let me in," she stated.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm on the roof," she laughed, and rocked on her heels. She was happy, and high on life, and frankly, she wanted to share it with somebody. Teva wanted to share it with Red. Fuck the games. Screw pretending. She was ready to put herself out there, to take the great leap into the unknown.

Red's sigh was explosive, followed by the rustle of blankets, and something else. Clothes, maybe. She wasn't sure what Red slept in. Maybe he was fan of birthday suit pajamas, or maybe he was putting on a suit so he could come up here, glare at her in that way that he had, and lecture her like she was some kind of child when in actuality the age difference between them was not all that great. "I'll be there in a minute," he grumbled, and hung up on her.

* * *

><p><em>You pick. Wherever you want.<em>

He'd almost made it back to the bar, happy as a clam, or happy as that dancing panda Feral sent because clams generally didn't make him happy. They made him pukey and asthmatic. That was a terrible phrase for him! He paused, and added onto his message.

_Within financial reason. I'm not made of Daddy's money anymore, you know! Now hold that thought. I am about to go woo my woman._

Taking off his glasses, running his hand through his hair a few times to smooth it down, and trying his best to adjust his torn clothes back into place, he pushed his way into The Sanctuary. Spotting his target almost instantly, he gave a silent little wave to Benny (who stared at him with a slightly shocked look on his face), told Tack to shut the fuck up before the big man could even open his mouth, and stopped just behind Ally, tapping her on the shoulder. She spun around just in time...

...for him to go into a sneezing fit right in front of her. At least he turned his head into his arm instead of sneezing on her face. That would've been bad.

"Switch, what-?" she started.

Blinking his reddened eyes past the tears, he shoved the tulips at her. "I got these for you. Sorry I snapped at you earlier. Really, really sorry. Can you please take them now, because my allergies are killing me?"

She did, slowly, a look of confusion on her face as she admired the scope of colors. "How did you get these? The only place I know that has them is-" Her eyes lit up. "Omg, did you steal these from the Gardens?"

"...Yes?" Switch answered hesitantly, realizing that maybe theft wasn't something she might think of as sexy.

She handed off the flowers to a helpful coworker, much to Will's relief because he was getting kind of tired of not being able to breathe normally, then looked at his scratched up arms, torn pant leg, puffy, tear-filled eyes, and reddened nose. Her lips pulled up into a soft smile as a look of part amusement, part sympathy crossed her eyes. "You look like shit," she laughed. "Come to the back, we'll get you cleaned up."

A chorus of immature "ooooooohs" started up briefly before she shot a glare around the whole bar, shutting everyone up immediately, then put her hand on Will's back to steer him towards the employee rooms.

_Holy balls, I think it worked!_ He messaged Feral in happy triumph, along with a gif of a gun shooting glitter and confetti up into the air.

When did he start saying "holy balls"? It didn't matter. He was going to the back room. With Ally. And she was smiling!

* * *

><p>By the time Red opened the door to the roof, Teva had lit up a cigarette out of impatience, and just to have something to do with her hands. The doorknob wiggled, and she abruptly pitched her smoke over the edge of the roof, and stuffed her hands in her back pockets.<p>

Red looked adorable when he was grumpy and half-asleep, she decided. Red was pretty cute when he was grumpy under normal circumstances, but sleep-grump was even better. His long hair was messed up in his crooked ponytail, and a little knotted. His t-shirt was on backwards, the painted label a stark contrast against the white fabric.

She smiled. "Hi."

He leaned against the doorjamb, wondering what the hell she was doing there. "Feral, what-?"

She rushed him, pushing him into the stairwell until his back hit the wall, and she stood up on her tiptoes, grateful for the extra boost her shoes gave her, pressing her lips against his. Teva wasn't good with words, particularly not when it came to feelings. Besides, Red already knew how she felt about him, even if she'd never said it aloud. He was intuitive like that, and it wasn't like they hadn't discussed this before...or rather, "discussed" it, because Teva wasn't into actual discussions.

At first he stood there passively letting her do all the work (like usual!), but then Red's body caught up, apparently ahead of his brain, responding to the kiss.

She felt light, and happy; exhilarated from the running, and other things. He smelled good, all sleepy and clean, and a little like fabric softener. His hands curved around her waist, and pulled her in close. Teva balled his t-shirt up in her hands, and made the first move to dive underneath the hem.

Then Red stopped, and wrenched his head away, saying hoarsely, "Teva, we talked about this. The reasons haven't changed at all." He wouldn't look at her.

She pulled away quickly like he'd burned her, and tried to cover up the sting of rejection with bravado. "Yeah, I know," Feral chirped, backing away toward the stairs. "I was just in a good mood, and I wanted to share it with somebody; just so happened I was in the neighborhood. Mission accomplished. Night, Red," she babbled at him. Before he could even respond, she was three flights down, and she kept running, bounding down as many stairs as she could, impossible to catch.

There was no joy in it.

When she hit the street level, Teva kept going until she was in the Quarter. Panting, she slowed to a walk, checked her messages, and replied to Switch.

_Glad it worked out. _

That was it. No inflection, no emoticons, nothing else. She wiped her tears on the sleeve of her sweater, and kept going because there was nothing else to be done about it.

Switch's romantic gesture had emboldened her, but whereas his had been a success, she had failed. Red was too stubborn, too determined to be alone.

Teva tried to ignore the sound of her heart breaking.

* * *

><p>Will's glasses and headphones were off so he was unaware of the little ping alerting him to Feral's last message. He probably wouldn't have looked at it right then even if he had known she'd sent it. He was too busy looking at Ally.<p>

She had just finished applying ointment to the long cut on his leg, and was in the process of sticking little robot band-aids over the areas where it was a little wider and deeper. And she was babbling while she worked. Ally. Was babbling.

"I don't know why anyone would break into the Gardens like that to get flowers they're allergic to. I mean, how stupid can a person be? Surprised you didn't get tazed. You seem like the type that would get tazed. How the hell did you get out of there without getting fucking tazed? I mean, I figured you were pretty good. People said you were good, anyway. That Phantom guy doesn't work with just anyone, after all. But that's Matrix good. Running from cops? That's a whole new ballgame, especially being all allergic-reactiony. How could you even see with-"

She stopped as she sat back on her heels and began to move a wet wipe towards his face. Her hand stilled for a few seconds before it pushed ahead, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears. "You have blue eyes," she stated as a sort of curiosity.

He gave her a half smile. "I can't, um, I can't change those like I can my hair, so..."

"No, they're nice. The red, puffy, bloodshot look makes the color stand out that much more. You ever notice that? People's eye color is always prettier after they've been crying? It's kind of beautiful and sad at the same time."

"You're beautiful." The words had just slipped out, too late to take back. "Oh, wow, I'm...wow. I'm sorry, that...that was supposed to be my inside voice. I didn't-"

"Switch, shut up." She leaned forward and kissed him softly, something he didn't quite respond to right away.

"My nose is still a little run-" he tried to explain around the lips that were pressed into his, thinking she'd be horribly appalled if he were to snot on her face.

"Shut up and kiss me back," she demanded, never breaking the hold her mouth had on his. Instead she kissed him a little more forcefully.

This time he followed orders like a good little princess.

Tonight was a good night.

* * *

><p>-FIN-<p> 


	6. An Angel

An Angel

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost-ish

Rating: R

Warnings: mature themes including date rape, proposed torture, and death by acid

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

><p>Notes: This story takes place after the events of <em>Sex, Drugs, and Runners' Luck<em>, which has been posted as a separate story due to its length. Please read that first, or you will be totally lost as to what's going on here. There are two companion pieces to this tale, _Slaying Demons_ by Alex Kade, and _Letters to a Lost Love_, which is a co-written story by myself and Alex, as well.

And go check out The Beta Branch. thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun stuff belongs to Shadowrun people. Original characters belong to me.

* * *

><p>She had never noticed how her apartment seemed to echo before.<p>

It had never seemed empty before.

Now, after becoming so adjusted to being around Brandon, sharing living space, and a bed, and occasionally even the shower, she felt his absence acutely.

Her apartment echoed; it was quite disconcerting.

Maybe she just needed to buy more stuff to fill it. So Teva went to furniture stores, and galleries, and even a nursery that sold potted plants. She put up new window treatments, laid down new rugs, rearranged things, fluffed pillows… Pretty much decorating until the thought of looking at another paint sample made her want to throw up.

Still, the space seemed to echo.

* * *

><p>Madden was in her new chair, a big, sturdy, taupe pleather piece bought with him in mind. It looked less likely to collapse under his bulk, and the fabric matched the other chair, a sleek recliner made with wood and pleather padding, a matching footstool in front of it. The new sofa, which she was perched on in her customary spot, was sage green, and the accent pillows bore some pattern of faint leaves amidst the creamy-tan, green, and faint, silvery-violet threads. The rug matched, and there was a tree in the corner, a real tree with green leaves, and fucking flowers on it and shit. Teva had to water it and everything.<p>

Her friend looked around, and commented mildly, "You've done some work."

The once-white walls were now the palest plum she'd been able to find, still more white than anything else, and there was a hanging basket by the door, and some kind of corner-rack thingy that didn't really serve any purpose but to hold mail and her keys. There was another plant on the bottom shelf, a stout cactus.

That was to say nothing of what she'd done in the bedrooms, having turned one into an in-home gym with heavy padding on the floor, and the other had been given a makeover as well, everything that was dingy and bought in a thrift-shop having been returned to the resale floor. It was dove gray in there with violet and royal blue accents, and there may or may not have been potted orchid on her new dresser/mirror combo.

Shit, it was fucking _domestic _up in there.

Teva groaned, and put her head in her hands.

"What's the matter?" Madden asked around a fistful of popcorn.

It was soap opera day, and they were between shows, which was probably the only reason Madden was talking to her. He had a tendency to get very absorbed in his shows.

"Nothing," she sighed.

"Bullshit," the troll grumped. "Now spit it out, kid."

"I…_redecorated_."

Obviously that held a lot more connotations for her than it did for Madden, because he just raised his eyebrows, bone deposits bouncing the light of the big three-wick pillar candle in the center of the conversation table off of them.

"Oh my god, you totally don't get it," Teva bemoaned. "Are we gonna, like, talk about our feelings now? Do we _actually_ have to talk about _feelings_, Madden?"

"Apparently so," he replied slowly, the confusion on his face being replaced by a dawning comprehension. "Does this have anything to do with your abnormally long trip to L.A.?"

"_No!_" she spat defensively.

Madden gave her a very level look of disbelief.

"Yes," Teva grumbled under her breath.

"Okay, so what happened?"

The question was mild enough, but she still froze, her lips parted but no sound coming out. How could she possibly summarize those weeks in Los Angeles? They had passed in such a blur, but here she was at the end of them; Teva could feel the changes in herself beneath the surface, tentative bridges forming between her inner and outer worlds. The Life of Feral, and its companion piece, The Secret Life of Teva Dalca. If it was a book series, the final novel would be called The Afterlife or something equally pithy.

"Teva?"

"I met up with Ghost," she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

Madden remained silent, but looked faintly shocked by her statement.

"He needed my help," Teva let slip again before she could stop herself.

The troll made an impatient gesture with his fingers. "Come on, Teva, just get to the point."

"I…I stayed for awhile after my job, and we…we, um…oh god, I can't believe I'm telling you this," she muttered as her face flamed. Teva lunged forward, and swiped her cigarettes off of the table, lighting one up mostly to distract herself.

A hesitant glance at her friend revealed that he looked just as uncomfortable as she did. However, Madden was nothing if not persistent. Haltingly, he began, "So, you and he…hooked up?" There was a look of such discomfort on his face as he said this that she found herself starting to smirk despite her own squirming embarrassment. It always made her feel marginally better knowing she wasn't the only one fumbling awkwardly through an emotional minefield.

"It was…a little more than that. At least, I think it was," Teva amended, "But, you know, I haven't heard from him since I got back, and I'm kind of worried, but mostly I just…" The words which had begun to come in a rapid flow abruptly trickled to a halt. She bit her lip, looking anxious.

"You just?" Madden prompted, then shoved more popcorn in his maw as though to tell himself to shut the fuck up.

Her exhalation was shaky, but quiet. So much so that only someone right next to her, or that knew her well would guess that it was a sign of inner turmoil and resignation. "I just…miss him," Teva whispered. "The place seemed so huge and empty, and I wanted to fill it up with _something_. Nothing…nothing works though. Oh my god, that sounds so corny." With her free hand, she smacked her palm into her face. "I can't believe I just said that. Kill me now." Her mortification at her own weakness was transparent.

The silence stretched between them, and the familiar strains of Days in Saigon, or whatever the hell it was, began to warble through the room. There was only one condition for soap opera day, and it was that all soaps watched must be foreign. Those were the best ones.

Finally, Madden cleared his throat. "Teva, you…" he hesitated. "I'm happy you found someone," the troll stated after another awkward minute. "Maybe you should call him?"

Running a hand through her hair, Teva huffed, "He's lying low right now because some people are out to get him." After a momentary pause where she flicked her ash in a little plum ceramic ashtray, she went on to say, "But you know, I wouldn't mind if he called me; what a jerk, right, making me worry about his ass. I just don't want to call him at the exact wrong time, you know what I mean? His comm could go off while the bad guys are right outside his door. You've seen horror movies. That's how the killer finds you." She nodded very seriously, and took a drag off her cigarette.

Curious eyes studied her from beneath heavy set brows as the opening credits of Days of Saigon faded into a commercial. Finally, Madden started laughing. "That's how…" he sputtered, "…finds…Teva, too much TV."

Casually, she flipped him off, and turned up the volume on the trid to drown him out. It didn't matter that she couldn't understand a single word on the channel. Teva glared balefully from underneath long, dark eyelashes. It wasn't silly. Her worry wasn't humorous. Madden had no idea what was going on with her, not really, and he needed to stop fucking laughing.

* * *

><p>She kicked off the covers in her sleep, and rolled across the mattress.<p>

It was too hot, or at least it felt that way thanks to the inferno of her dreams.

Slow, wet kisses; hands traveling up the inside of her thighs, sticky with excitement; skin under her, soft to the touch, sweet to her sense of smell, a little like kettle corn. Every moment dripped with unbearable sensuality, and Teva soaked it up like sponge, writhing with pleasure. An edge of teeth; hands around her throat, somehow frightening and exciting all at once; breathing labored. On her back, and on top, and surrounded; for the briefest instant, on all fours, feeling the incredible arousal that had first pierced her as a teenager; feeling like an animal; then feeling a sick roil of fear.

Teva twitched awake with a little gasp, eyes wide and wondering what was going on. She breathed heavily, piecing together the strange dream, ignoring the pulse between her legs.

"What…the fuck?" she finally asked aloud, though there, of course, was no one there to answer her.

The past had mixed with more recent events in her mind, tumbling from desires in different times to something vaguely scary.

It seemed her time with Brandon had finally caught up to her psyche, and she turned the changes over and over in her mind until she could barely tell which way was up any longer.

Sliding out of bed, she scooped a shirt off the floor and passed through the open bedroom door into the hallway, then down and around the corner to the kitchen. There was a can of soycaf on the counter next to the coffee maker, and she worked quickly, thoughtlessly, to set it to brewing. Slumped over on one of the stools in front of the breakfast counter, Teva lit up a cigarette.

She'd put the Horizon incident behind her, or so she'd thought. It had been an aberration of character for him. Brandon had been as much a victim as her there. The bioweapon that stripped the humanity from those it infected, releasing every impulse, right or wrong, and every nightmare in their heads, it had affected Bran far worse than it had ever affected her.

Yet she couldn't help but recall the fear she'd felt pinned like a butterfly on the cool, concrete floor.

In the past, Teva hadn't minded playing asphyxiation games, just like she'd never minded getting fucked from behind. In fact, she'd never really developed any sexual preferences, excited by the unpredictability of the act, but time and a few bad encounters had changed that.

It wasn't Brandon's fault that his infection had unleashed in him a nightmare that had developed in her mind over those years. Frankly, it was almost ironic, because they shared the same fear.

Brandon had been abused for years of his life. The last thing he would ever want to do was be someone else's abuser. It had forced him to be almost pathologically gentle in bed, as evidenced when they'd finally gotten around to having sex. Hell, she could have sworn he felt guilty for biting her, and it hadn't even been a hard nip!

So she knew without a doubt that the man who'd held her down, and slowly cut off her oxygen on a storage room floor in a megacorp _wasn't him_. Perhaps he'd been reliving some of his own trauma, or maybe it was just the unpredictability of the aerated drug; whatever it was, it definitely hadn't been him.

But that didn't stop the fear.

Fear existed outside of the bounds of logic and reason, and Teva's life had given her a good many reasons to fear that exact situation coming to pass. She was a woman, and women were always critically aware of their weaknesses, warned from an early age about sexual predators. In addition to the normal cautions though, Teva had first-hand experience with the darker side of desire. A whore for a mother had exposed her to some of life's harshest truths, but still she hadn't really thought, hadn't really _believed_ that it could happen to her. One night in a bar changed that.

She barely remembered his face. Teva didn't remember much of that night in general. Whatever had been slipped to her had served its intended purpose. All she recalled was being fucked from behind, and waking up in a motel room with a piece of gauze taped over a set of deep, deliberate score marks; four straight lines about an inch and a half long. Angry, embarrassed, afraid, she had told no one; she'd had no one to tell. The normal awareness had grown and become a monster in her mind.

Before that night, it had actually been one of her preferred positions. There was something about rutting like an animal that felt a little truer to her. People were the only animals on the planet that fucked facing each other. Their ape cousins probably would have laughed if they'd been able to speak.

After… After that, Teva had shut herself down, walked away from that side of herself. It wasn't that she hadn't tried; she had, but the experiments had failed, in most cases spectacularly.

The clincher had been the stripper job. Teva was a gun-slinger, but she was also a girl. In the 'runner world, that usually equated to 'we need somebody to be girl-bait; why bring in another female when we've already got one right here?' She'd only needed to keep the target occupied for a certain amount of time, but the team was running behind. She had gone down on her knees for them, for the money. It had been an act of will to get through it. Another violation. Perhaps the whispers in the neighborhood had been more accurate than she'd ever realized; maybe being a whore was genetic.

Sure, they'd done it for different reasons, but in the end what it boiled down to was that they'd both lowered themselves for money.

She hadn't been with anyone in five years, and it was only because of Red that Teva had begun to waver from her abstinence. He'd stirred feelings in her, a part of her that she'd thought was dead, not merely dormant, and his rejection had driven her across the continent, inadvertently into the arms of another man.

While Teva hadn't been looking whatever had been damaged in her that night at the bar had scabbed over and healed.

But the scars were still there. That man, that nameless, faceless man had taken something that didn't belong to him, and tainted an act she'd once loved. She had been _relieved_ when Bran said he'd never fuck her doggy-style. It was so stupid, but there it was, the true depth of the scarring. The marks on her back, those were inconsequential. Teva had felt worse, wore worse injuries embedded in her flesh. The real pain was that she'd allowed someone to take an act she enjoyed and twist it into something she feared.

Putting out her cigarette in a green ceramic ash tray in the shape of a leaf that sat on the neutral, tan Formica counter, Teva slid off the stool, and poured herself an oversized mug full of black, steaming caffeinated beverage. She padded into the living room, dressed only in a pair of underwear, and the tank top she'd picked up off the bedroom floor.

Her green couch was comfortable, and she turned on the trid, seeking the morning news. However, her mind wasn't on current events.

Getting involved with Brandon hadn't been her intention when she'd gone to Los Angeles. All she had wanted was to pull a job and lick her wounds in peace. But Bran had drawn her into his orbit unintentionally. She was a sucker for a wounded animal, and Brandon had been about to die, caught in the steel jaws of a trap made by his demons.

She'd caused that.

The incident at Horizon had brought up deep-seated issues for him just as it had brought up some of her own fears. The difference? Teva's demons didn't have names and faces, and hadn't just gotten released from prison. It had sent Brandon spiraling further down a dark path, using drugs to try and escape the nightmares that had suddenly sprung back to life, and been given teeth by the niggling fear that maybe his abuse had made him just like his uncle, his tormentor.

She stayed because some part of her cried out that she could _fix this_, she could make it okay, because if Brandon knew he wasn't a nightmare for her then maybe some of his pain would ease.

Becoming personally attached had been a byproduct of all the exposure, and now it was too late. Teva loved him. She loved a man whose hands had wrapped around her throat and squeezed until she couldn't breathe. What did that say about her? Did it say anything? Did the fact that he hadn't been in control at the time, literally insane because of this strange, experimental weapon make a difference? She felt like it did, but maybe that was the crossed wires in her head speaking, the part that had once been excited by a little rough play; maybe she still was, but couldn't bring herself to go all the way, to explore that darkness she had once wholeheartedly embraced.

These thoughts were confusing her, as full of inconsistencies as her dream had been.

Brandon would never hurt her. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did, that much was clear from his condition when they'd first reunited in L.A.

So what then? Was she enraptured with the gentleness or the potential for violence? Was her fascination with force something that had lingered from her youth despite the traumas she'd suffered? What did it say about her that she was able to put that incident behind her so easily?

Were Cat's insinuations correct? Was there really something wrong with her?

* * *

><p>A day later the letter arrived.<p>

Teva recognized the return address as Mrs. Reyes'.

Smile unbidden, she read through it, laughed, read it again, and then etched out a reply on a piece of paper torn from the very same journal that 'Romeo' had given her.

Angel, indeed.

The very thought was ludicrous.

Longing lanced her heart as she slipped the envelope in the mailbox. Teva pressed a hand over her heart involuntarily, leaning against the metal boxes for a moment.

He was absolutely right; love _was_ pain. It was funny how Brandon had echoed her thoughts she'd had back in L.A. Perhaps they were more suited than she had previously thought.

Straightening up, Teva went back up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"Come here, sweetheart," a deep voice rumbled, and she obeyed, crawling across the rumpled bed sheets until she abased herself before him where he stood at the end of the bed.<p>

Teva rolled her eyes upward in an uncharacteristic display of submission. That was the game today, and she was getting better at it slowly but surely. It went against her competitive nature, the urge she had to always come out on top, which was part of the reason why it was so damn exciting.

Razor quirked his lips, that little smile he had whenever he was pleased with something she did, and touched her rounded chin with a gentle hand and callused fingertips.

She'd always hated the way she looked. Round, young. Even as she grew older and lost her baby fat, and her cheekbones began to stand out a little more, her features were just a little too petite to ever be anything but pretty. Teva hid it underneath heavy, dramatic make-up and outrageous hair, but like this, naked and vulnerable, her long black hair unbound, flowing with little streaks of red in it, she couldn't be anything _but_ pretty.

Leaning down, he kissed her passionately, his scruff a little rough against her skin, but his lips soft enough to make up for it. Her mouth was forced open with the pressure of his, and he swept inside, explored the terrain found there as though for the first time. She mewled and made tiny noises, rising up onto her knees to ease the strain on her tall lover.

She didn't touch him though. That wasn't the game.

Slowly, Razor sat on the bed, continuing to kiss her and explore her body with his hands. She was small, and he spanned her waist easily, palms gliding up the spare curves to her breasts, which like the rest of her were delicate and petite. He pulled away with a rough nip to her lower lip, and roughly declared, "Turn around."

Facing the mirrored closet doors, Teva studied herself, the soft, hazy look in her eyes, her swollen, red lips, and the tousled hair around her bare shoulders and chest. She looked romantic, she decided. Like some sweet little heroine on the cover of a novel. Tanned hands reached around her, plucking her nipples until she vibrated from the sensation, and shifted restlessly, her thighs clenching together in a desperate bid to find some kind of satisfaction, any kind. She knew what he wanted; Razor liked to _hear_ her pleasure, and she liked to deny him. Even playing the submissive this time around, she denied him, held it off until she could barely stand it any longer, until her breasts felt too sensitive, and then finally, finally she permitted him the smallest of gasps.

He stilled, grinning in the mirror, and kissed her shoulder blade, pleased with having won that round. His touch slid down her front, tanned hands curving over her thighs and parting them wide with sheer pressure.

She looked at herself in the mirror, spread open for him, and at his face, so clearly enjoying it, and _she_ enjoyed it then.

"Hands and knees," Razor ordered softly next to her ear, then brushed his lips over the outer edge of her cartilage.

Teva shifted, feeling the arousal burn deep in her gut as something visceral began to rise up and claim her. She jumped when a palm came down on her right buttock, and squeaked in surprise. Wide-eyed, breaking character, the young woman growled, "What the hell, Razor!"

He laughed and did it again, fisting her hair simultaneously so that he could raise it up and find that spot on her neck that made her boneless with pleasure.

That time she kind of liked it, and as the after-burn settled in and he stroked the reddened mark, Teva found she didn't mind it so much at all. Not if it made him look at her like that, with that banked fire in his eyes like she was all he'd ever wanted in his bed and his life. "You're a bad girl, aren't you, Teva?" he rumbled, and she smiled teasingly, raising an eyebrow. Was she? "Yeah," Razor breathed, and sucked a mark onto her shoulder. He pulled away and blew cool air on the heated flesh bearing the depressions of his teeth, and she shivered. "Yeah, you are. You know why?"

She shook her head, about to say 'no,' but he entered her swiftly before she could get the word out. It stopped her breath in her lungs, momentarily overwhelmed with the girth of him. Her eyes closed, and she panted, waiting for her body to adjust to the sweet invasion.

He thrust before she was completely ready for it, and it brought a rough sound of pleasure out of her. "Because you wanted me, and you hunted until you caught me. Didn't you, Teva?"

She shook, and fisted the sheets beneath her, riding out the fantastic wave building within her.

"Because," a hand came down on her left buttock, harder than before, and she moaned, "You sensed the edge of danger in me the way I felt it in you." A hard thrust went too deep and hit her cervix, and she cried out brokenly. "You're like me, sweetheart. You crave the danger; you crave the violence."

"Yes," she hissed ecstatically as she squeezed her eyes shut and came.

He left her in a heap on his bed, completely fucked out. By the time Razor got back from the bathroom, she was already asleep. He swallowed his shame. For once, she looked like the child she'd never really been.

* * *

><p>Teva was in the middle of her extensive exercise routine when the apartment buzzer sounded, indicating that somebody was on the stoop. Landing one last roundhouse on the heavy bag, she stripped off her gloves, and walked to the door.<p>

Next to it was a rather utilitarian looking aluminum panel with three buttons on it labeled 'intercom,' 'video,' and 'door open.' She hit the intercom button. "Yes?"

"Feral?" Red's voice came through on the speaker, surprisingly free of static. It sounded as it always was: clear, calm, and commanding.

She swallowed, and pushed away the faint pulse of warmth that stretched through her.

What about Brandon?

Yes, those feelings were still there too, warmer and somehow more intense, but she'd had three years to develop her attachment to Red. It wasn't going to go away overnight, or even over the course of a few nights. And apparently developing a new romantic interest hadn't obliterated the old one.

"Hey, Red. What's up?" she asked, hoping her voice came out casual enough.

"May I come up?" he replied carefully.

"I suppose," Teva drawled, and hit the door opener. It let out that high-pitched buzzing noise that indicated the door was unlocked, and was silenced a second later as the door shut once more.

Leaning against the small section of wall right next to the door, she waited for Red to step off the elevator. She was a habitual stair-taker, but she didn't kid herself, Red would always take the elevator given the option.

It wasn't that she was looking forward to seeing Red. On the contrary, they hadn't parted on the easiest of terms, and she'd rather have avoided him for as long as possible. Though there had been no overt discussion of what had occurred between them, it had been rather obvious that Teva had offered herself to Red, not for the first time, and he had refused, also not for the first time. It was to also be the last time, because Teva was no wilting woman to spend her days pining after a man with better things to do than love her.

A light tap on the door pulled her out of her dreary thoughts, and she pulled open the door, stepping back to let the red-haired elf inside.

He eyed her up and down as he slipped past her. Teva felt abruptly self-conscious, aware of her sweaty hair, and her basketball shorts. All she wore on her upper half was a black sports bra, and some tape on her hands.

"I wish you'd call first," Teva huffed as she relocked the door. Her tone was gruff to cover up any awkwardness she felt.

Red offered her a smirk, and with his hands in his pockets like that, in his dark, tailored suit and pinstriped shirt, he looked so fucking good it took her breath away.

Fuck. She really wasn't over him yet, not totally.

"My apologies," he began, his voice low and intimate sounding. "I just wanted to check on you. Madden told me you were back."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "The 'run went fine."

His eyebrows went up as his curiosity took over. "Oh? Lucrative then?" The elf asked politely, and of course that would be his first real question. Red loved money. It was like his version of crack. Feral 'ran for the danger, for the excitement, because she was as addicted to the rush of adrenaline as Ghost was to uppers, but Red was purely a profit man, motivated by the nuyen signs.

"Enough," Teva replied nonchalantly, and walked from the door to the kitchen. "You want a soda or something?" She opened the fridge door, perusing its contents as a way to keep herself occupied. The longer she could avoid eye contact with him, the better.

"No, thank you," Red answered, but purloined a seat on one of the stools instead to wordlessly illustrate he wasn't planning on rushing out the door either.

Feral reached in, grabbing a silver can of grape soda. It was stupid, but she loved that stuff; it reminded her of being a little kid. Popping the top, she tipped it back, and drank until her throat couldn't stand the carbonation scraping its way down her esophagus any more. Setting the can down on the counter, she waited for the inevitable, for whatever reason Red had come there to make itself known.

"So, how was Los Angeles?" he asked neutrally.

"Fine," Feral responded lightly, and drilled her fingernails on the countertop. She raised her eyebrow, and thought impatiently 'get to the point.'

"And Ghost?" Red wanted to know. His tone was a little too innocent there, and she thought 'ah-ha' with more than a hint of smugness.

Red didn't do anything without a reason, much less show up at her apartment out of the blue. Usually it was for a 'run, which made sense as the majority of her and Red's relationship was quarantined to the world of shadowrunning. A purely social call was rare.

His bringing up Ghost right away made her smile inwardly. Maybe he wasn't quite as cold as he'd seemed. Maybe he felt a little more than he ought to as well. Maybe his heart hadn't quite let go of her either despite the fact that it was _his_ decision which had sent her away. The thought that maybe he was a bit jealous made her feel good. She couldn't help but be pleased by his reaction. Even if she didn't want him anymore, it was still nice to know that one was wanted, that he was suffering the loss of her, the loss of something he'd never really had.

Then she felt guilty because she was reveling in his pain.

"He's fine as well," Teva answered calmly, attempting to squash her petty feelings.

His tone still mild, he asked, "And the two of you?"

Teva looked up from the tan counter with surprise beginning to bloom on her face. She hadn't expected him to know so much. Suspect, maybe, but not _know_. How did-?

With a sheepish grin, Red admitted, "Madden told me."

_That ass._ "He's a gossip," she shot back disparagingly. Teva lifted her soda up, and took another drink. She set it back down as Red began to speak again.

"I don't mean to overstep my bounds—"

"Then don't," Teva snapped, and reached jerkily for her cigarettes.

"—but I do consider you a friend, Teva—"

"We're not friends," she hissed harshly, corresponding with the _schick_ of the lighter as she flicked it with her thumb, springing a flame to life.

Ignoring that, Red went on to say, "I'm concerned. This is a man who attacked you, Teva. Are you sure you can trust him? Are you sure this is healthy?" He raised a hand imploringly, an expression so earnest on his face that it made her angry all over again.

Glaring, Teva blew a stream of smoke at him, watching it puff around his face. Her breath stirred the loose strands of his hair escaping his ponytail. In that moment, she hated everything about his eloquence, his constant need to be right, and his cool, calm, controlled presence. "It's a lot healthier than whatever the fuck you and I were doing," she spat harshly, leaning across the counter to get up in his space. "I know who he is. For a ghost, he's a lot more forthcoming than some people I know."

Red opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off.

"Look, the guy that came at me in Horizon? That's not him. Ghost…he's a good guy," Teva explained, easing back down onto her heels, flicking a short cylinder of ash into the leaf shaped tray. "So don't be a dick. Just because I'm younger than you, _Damon_, doesn't mean I'm stupid. I know what I'm doing." At the end of her little speech, she sighed, flicking her eyes up to meet Red's distinctively almond shaped ones, a deeper brown than her own, almost black.

He looked taken aback by her forwardness.

Feral wasn't known for her willingness to talk about personal matters, yet there she was telling him exactly what was what.

Red scanned her for an infinite moment, then shrugged elegantly. "If you say so."

"I do."

He glanced away, and admitted quietly, "Teva, I'm just worried; I—"

"I swear to god, if the next word out of your mouth is 'care,' I'm going to punch you square in the jaw," Teva drawled nonchalantly, but her eyes were narrowed with the sincerity of her threat.

He bit his tongue.

"You're the one who wanted to keep things _professional_, Red, so let's do that," Feral stated lightheartedly.

After a thoughtful pause where he scanned her for the truth of her statement, trying to discern what it was she really wanted from him, Red nodded his agreement. "Alright then. Professional."

"Yes. Professional," she reiterated. _You fucked it up. This is all your fault._

Standing, the shaman gave her a perfunctory little nod of his head, and told her, "I'll call you the next time I have a job for you."

"Good."

He hesitated, then smiled self-deprecatingly. "Goodbye, Teva. I wish you well with your new relationship. I truly hope it's not as dysfunctional as it seems from the outside." With that pithy comment that managed to cut her to the core, Red turned on his heel and walked out of the apartment for perhaps what would be the last time ever.

As the door swung closed on him, Teva sighed and swiped a finger underneath her eyes. Unerringly, his final dart had found its mark.

That was Red's true power; the ability to cut a person down to size with a few well-chosen words.

Taking a deep, slow breath in lieu of letting herself sniffle, Teva glared at the door, and hissed, "Asshole." She'd have been lying if she said part of her wasn't glad that it was over.

* * *

><p>The next letter arrived a week later, and it made her feel so sad and angry. Poor Brandon, trying to rid the world of the man that had tormented he and his cousin, one to his grave and the other nearly to the same. Killing demons was harder than it seemed. Another always rose to take its place.<p>

She hoped for his sake that Brandon didn't become obsessed with the idea of freeing all of the workers at whatever brothel or sex ring he'd discovered. It was impossible. A fruitless task. If they didn't go there, they'd just find someplace else. If it wasn't those people, it would be another group of desperate disenfranchised.

Tamsin was obsessed with finding the people who had tormented their mother, and because of it she had turned into a very dangerous person. She would sacrifice anything to see those sexual predators dead, anything at all, even if the price was her own life, her sanity, her _soul_. She'd let herself become a monster to try and stop them.

Teva hoped that Brandon wasn't about to follow her sister down the same dark, infinite path. There would always be evil in the world so long as there was metahumanity. She prayed that Brandon was smart enough to realize that; that he wasn't about to become some crusader for justice.

_Note to self: never introduce Tamsin and Brandon._ They'd probably run off together to try and single-handedly rid the world of sexual abusers, which was a nice idea in theory. In practice, it would never work. They could hunt until they fell over dead, and still thousands more would remain. More were born and made every single day.

She had to think about her reply for a long while, not wanting to reveal these concerns to Brandon inadvertently. It may have given him ideas. Teva took her journal and the letter up to the roof with her, where she picked the lock, and let the heavy door close behind her.

In flip flops and a red bikini that tied on both sides of her hips, she lay down on the lounge chair that she kept stashed by the stairwell, and slowly let herself boil in the sun. It was one of those days when it seemed almost too hot to move. Most sane people had fled the neighborhood, taking their hordes of rowdy children to the public pools and water parks. A few blocks over an elderly woman had turned on the sprinkler in her front yard, and sat in her lawn chair, letting the oscillating spray rain down on her while her grandchildren ran in circles around her and played. Others hid indoors with their shades drawn and their air conditioning blasting, trying to keep as cool as possible.

Teva wasn't like that. She'd been born and raised in Tampa where, like New Orleans, the heat and humidity were palpable things. When the temperature dipped into the sixties, people broke out their winter jackets. She thrived in the unforgiving sunshine.

Reaching behind her neck, she picked the knot apart, and let the strings come loose. The triangles of fabric stretched over her breasts slackened. Her hands slipped around her back, undoing the other bow as well, and setting the top down next to her chair. Once Teva stretched out on the lounge, she untied her bottoms as well, but left them underneath her body should someone unexpectedly appear on the roof.

The tenants were supposed to go up there. Officially, it was because the roof was a hazard zone, and the landlord didn't want anybody taking a swan dive into the pavement. That wasn't the real reason though. The real reason was because of the little shed on the corner of the roof where the landlord had a little hydroponic pot farm growing. Teva snorted. Like she gave a shit about a little weed; like _anybody_ in their building would.

Stretched out on her back, sunglasses perched on her nose, it finally hit her just what she should write. She snickered, and picked up her journal, turning on her stomach to begin her letter. It wasn't going to be the dark, depressing reply that Brandon was probably expecting. No, she'd remind him instead of the good things in life, the things that he'd miss out on if he adopted a vigilante lifestyle full-time.

As she wrote, it occurred to Teva that she was actually being quite honest with him. There was something very sensual about tanning in the nude, sitting out in the open on her rooftop surrounded by other buildings, everyone oblivious to the naked woman in the lounge chair a few yards away. It _was_ arousing. The thought of making love with Brandon on the roof, sitting on his lap in the chair while they tried to keep their balance, his hands gliding across her damp skin, and licking the salt from her collarbones… Geezus, that fucking turned her on.

It wasn't the idea of people watching either. It was the idea that people_ could_ be watching. They could be caught and charged with public indecency, or maybe some innocent bystander would clap eyes on them and turn the sight into their own fantasy. It was the thrill of getting away with something naughty, riding her boyfriend to completion out there in the open air and the sunshine, the summer heat amplified by their writhing bodies and pounding heartbeats, that had her turning over onto her back and sliding her fingertips between the delicate folds of her nether lips.

She let her own expert touch bring her up over the precipice, then signed her codename, Rosalind. With a very naughty grin, Teva pressed her wet fingertip like a brand just under her name. It barely darkened the paper and soon it would dry, but she'd know that there in invisible ink lay her fondest wish for Brandon's quick revenge. She hadn't been lying when she declared it was for selfish reasons. He'd probably never know what she did, never pick up on it, but the dirty little secret would make her smile as the letter made its way to the CFS, and probably for days afterward every time she thought of it.

Sealing the paper up in an envelope, Teva stuck it in her journal to be mailed later.

Fifteen minutes were up again. She turned back onto her stomach, a little smile playing on her lips.

* * *

><p>That was the thing about five years of celibacy, Teva had discovered. It had built and built into this great beast living underneath her flesh. Every inch of skin, every tiny hair, every cell in her body ached to be touched. She had starved herself until she felt like a dried husk, locked up the part of her that purred underneath another's hand, and left it to wither and die.<p>

The reawakening of her sexual side, the slow process it had been—three years spent coming to terms with the fact that she desired Red, then meeting Brandon and being abruptly enflamed, culminating in the torrential unleashing—had left her in a heightened state. Little things became sensual, sexual; running her hands over her smooth legs after she shaved them in the bath, feeling the sheets, cool and crisp, slide over her bare skin, sitting in the sunshine, a breeze that curved around her in just the right way, sending a shiver up her spine. Suddenly Teva was one large, pulsating nerve, set to flame by the slightest provocation.

What was worse was that there was nowhere to put it. All of this need, this want, and the only thing it wanted to fixate on was a man living on the other side of the continent. It just wasn't fair!

It was almost shameful how often she'd taken to touching herself, experimenting with ice cubes, and lubricants, and a few toys bought in a moment of impulsiveness. Her mind whirled with fantasies more times a day than she wanted to admit.

Teva wondered how people lived like this. Did everyone walk around daydreaming about fucking as often as she had these past few weeks? How did people with boring office jobs stand it? She'd have been masturbating in the public bathroom on her lunch break. As it was, without a regular job Teva was able to indulge herself, and she did so thinking that the sooner she got it out of her system, the sooner life could get back to normal.

Apparently, her libido was making up for lost time.

She was in the middle of watching a dirty trideo, sucking on a cherry popsicle because sometimes a cliché was a cliché for a good reason—rediscovering just what her preferences were for such things was turning into an interesting journey—when she got the message on her comm.

It stopped her cold, sapped away the glow of excitement from her instantly.

Two words.

That was all.

Two words from a number she knew belonged to her contact in the authorities.

Just two little fucking words, and she shut down.

'Found him.'

* * *

><p>The air in the club was hot, steaming from the lights, and the fog machines, and the dozens of nubile bodies rubbing up against each other on the dance floor in paroxysms typical of their hormonal youth. All the better to encourage the girls to wear as little as possible, and invite the men to run bold hands under their short skirts and skimpy tops. Colored beams of light in violet and blue streamed from points of origin unknown, refracting in the fog. The music throbbed in the loins of the public orgy daring to call itself dancing.<p>

Teva was dressed like most of the others in a pair of PVC shorts so tightly conformed to her skin that they looked painted on, and a blue camouflage bondage corset decorated with shiny, silver D-rings instead of the traditional boning. Her hair was still long back then, and dyed black. The underside was a blue so dark it almost matched. When she let her hair grow out, it began to wave, falling into a tousled style some women took hours in front of the mirror to achieve. With platform combat boots that ended over her knees, and smoky eyes paired with a pink pout, she knew she looked delectable.

That was, after all, the goal.

She'd been a good girl for a few months, and thought it was a good time for some fun. She wanted to dance until her limbs felt heavy, drink until her thoughts grew hazy, and then find a stupid boy to fuck and forget in the morning.

She was on her third vodka-tonic when he approached. Nice smile, light brown hair, blue eyes, medium build, and a very modest number of piercings and tattoos for the goth club. He was wearing a white t-shirt stretched a little tight over his chest, and black jeans that looked new. His boots weren't scuffed, and were tied neatly.

All of that probably should have been an indicator that he didn't belong, not really. But Teva was still young back then, and still had a thread of innocence. She didn't notice his wrongness as he bought her another drink, then some tequila shots, nor as she sucked the juice out of his limes as well as her own. He was funny and charming, and out of every girl he could have talked to in the club, he was talking to her. That was flattering. In a room full of women, Teva was hardly the most attractive one. Pretty, yes, but never stunning, never heart-stopping. With a casual glance, she was able to pick out a dozen women that would have ranked higher than her on a scale of fugly to drop-dead gorgeous.

She was making excuses again, running that night over and over in her mind, what little she could remember anyway. She should have noticed this, she shouldn't have done that, what was she thinking? The simple fact was that Teva had trusted the wrong person. He'd seemed harmless enough, had reeled her in with his charisma, and while her back had been turned, that sweet young man had tipped a vial of GHB in her drink, and watched with entertained eyes as she swallowed it down.

The last thing Teva remembered with any clarity was dancing to a remix with a heavy bass, his leg between hers. After that it became a jumble of images. Her head on his shoulder as they took a cab somewhere. Kissing, tongues twining. Laughing as he bit her. Cutting her panties off, the knife cool against her skin. At some point she remembered thinking 'this is bad; I need to leave,' then she was on her hands and knees, not quite sure how that had happened.

She was compliant like a doll, folding easily under his suggestions, though inside that feeling of trepidation never quite left. The blade bit into her skin, sharp, urgent, somehow more urgent than the feel of his cock inside of her. He was so still as he made those marks. Then later, pounding into her as her arms curved around the pillow, just trying to breathe and not puke. His grip on her hips bruisingly tight, a screaming agony as he crushed her open wounds.

'Make it stop; let it end,' she'd begged, and with one last gasp, passed out.

For a long time she had blamed herself. She'd asked for it, going out like that with the intention to pick up a stranger to fuck.

Then the 'run occurred, and Teva had a sudden vivid sense memory of going down on the guy who'd date-raped her. Maybe in the bathroom at the club? The where didn't matter. It made her ill regardless. She cut the man up, made him pay for forcing her down to her knees, and thought venomously of another whose face she couldn't quite make out the details on.

Someday, she'd promised herself.

A friend in the force agreed to run an image search of her scars in their database twice a year.

For five years there was nothing. He'd never been caught.

But now finally she had a name: Frederick Wells. The only son of a well-to-do family, which explained a lot the longer that Teva thought about it. Even if reports had been filed against him, the family had probably bribed the girls to drop the charges. Except this latest one, Nell Ann Parsons; whatever the girl's reasoning, whatever the truth of the situation, Feral was grateful. One woman's bravery had given her the key to revenge.

Just in time too.

It turned out that Brandon wasn't the only one doing a little demon hunting anymore.

* * *

><p>It took a few days of prep work and information gathering before Feral knew where he lived, what his routines were. She watched him with a curiously detached air, and the cold certainty that his death was already a foregone conclusion.<p>

That was when she got Brandon's first letter, and a desperately needed laugh. The heartless beast that lived inside of her was strong, stronger than ever now that the demise of one who had violated her was so close at hand. She'd needed his words to remind her that she was more than this, much more, that somewhere underneath the layers of calculated homicidal intention was just a woman. So she let herself laugh, and daydream, but she couldn't bring herself to let her hands drift any lower than her stomach, not while that man still lingered in her thoughts. She traced her index finger around and around her belly button, but found herself paralyzed from any further action.

Turning her thoughts elsewhere, Teva went to the store and bought a frame for Brandon's painting, and hung it in her bedroom because that was where the colors would blend best. She admired it for a moment in its simple black frame, and thought she ought to get him to sign it for her. Weren't artists supposed to sign their work? Tamsin always had.

The painting made her feel both happy and sad, and yet somehow at peace. She knew that Brandon thought of it as a metaphor for himself, and her supposed-saving of him; it didn't feel like that to her. There was a larger metaphor that he wasn't really seeing, and it was that of people as a whole. Everyone had their layers. The childish innocence obscured by the traumas they collected through their lives, and the good things they chose to surround themselves with instead of living trapped in their darkened little self-locked cells. Sometimes those good things took the form of other people; sometimes it was a job; sometimes it was something as simple as gardening, sewing, cooking, reading, or any number of tasks rooted in normalcy; sometimes it was redecorating.

A day later the next letter arrived. Feral was packing, having finally gotten all of her supplies ready, and loaded into the trunk of her sports car. She had a little time to kill, so she stopped at the mailbox. Upon discovering another letter, she slinked back up the stairs to read it.

There was time to reply, so she did, writing quickly, urgently, pressing too hard with the pen, her normally neat yet narrow cursive devolving into a mixture of printed letters and looped ones, and sometimes tiny capitals in the place of lowercase characters. If she'd stopped to think about it, she would have realized the change in writing was a pretty good indicator of how she was really feeling underneath the icy layers of self-imposed control and numbness. Distracted as she was, Feral did not.

Instead, she went back to the mailbox with her offering, entrusting it to the mail service carriers, and then down the stairs to the basement garage settled underneath the building.

Her chosen mode of transportation was a newer sports car made by one of the Asian car companies. Fast, sleek, and outfitted with every modern convenience. She'd even paid extra to have the color-changing grid installed on the body. With the push of a button, her car could go from gray to red to purple to neon green, and other assortments of colors. It was a similar concept to fiberoptic hair, and particularly useful when trying to shake a tail or in some cases the authorities. Teva may or may not have had a collection of license plates upstairs in the apartment too.

Carefully, she took the old one off, and tossed it in the backseat, then screwed the decoy plate on.

Feral was careful to stay within the speed limit, and changed her paint color to a non-descript gunmetal gray, the most common paint color for that model of vehicle. Parking a block away, she slung her supplies on her back, and hoofed it back to the building. Unfortunately, the lobby was manned twenty-four seven, and since Wells lived in the penthouse suite it meant that all visitors had to be either on the registered list or verified by calling up to the suite. That meant she had to take the fire door, and thanks to a nifty device procured on the black market, she had the capabilities to crack the electronic lock without setting off the building's alarm. There were ways of getting around having no technical skills, Feral thought smugly, though they often were expensive.

Silently, she tip-toed through the door, and waited until the camera's eye turned away, giving her a precious window to dash up the first flight of stairs. It was the only security measure taken to guard the fire stairs. After all, it was a waste of the tenants' money to guard a place that was secure. Teva took her time with the rest of the stairs, her gloved hands gliding along the railing, not leaving a trace.

It took another use of the algorithm lock-deactivator to get into the actual penthouse, and Feral let the door shut slowly, the light from the stairwell creating a narrowing beam on the plush living room carpeting that she was almost afraid would draw her quarry's attention.

It didn't. The apartment was silent, hushed like a tomb, which was fitting considering her purpose that night. She darted around a piano, a real piano like the one in Red's country home, and crept down the two carpeted steps to pad across the hexagonal floor space that all the living room furniture—black leather, probably real, and glass tabletops with nickel legs, an expensive looking statue of an elephant that she was betting was real ivory and totally leaving with her—was situated in. Catty-corner to the fire door on the other side of a sleek wooden panel that hid a television was the bedroom, the door still open a crack. Back pressed against the wall, Feral listened closely, but heard only one set of in-drawn breath. Good, it would be a shame to have gotten so far and be forced to retreat because he had company.

With a gentle touch, the door swung open, revealing the darkened interior of the bastard's private sanctuary. Expensive furniture, large bed, and a machine droning soothing ocean sounds as he slept on, unaware of the Erinye who had come to collect his debt.

A macabre grin slashed across her countenance. It took an effort, but she settled herself back to a state of preternatural calm. With a silent, in-drawn breath, Teva proceeded in.

* * *

><p>She set the bag down on the ground very quietly, and muffled the sound of the zipper with her hoodie, eyes on the bed the entire time. There, nestled on the top was a tiny little glass vial filled with clear liquid, and a syringe. Uncapping it, she drew out the proper dosage for a man Frederick's size, and crept up to the bed.<p>

Feral smoothed her leather clad hand over the tiny hairs on his right arm, gently turning it over. He woke at the feel of the needle sliding into his skin, gasping, "What the fuck?" He jerked his arm out of her grasp, tearing the puncture hole a little wider. Blood beaded at the site. "Who the fuck are you?" he shouted.

"Shh." She moved, putting a hand over his mouth. "Quiet," Teva purred, "We don't want to wake your downstairs neighbors."

He must have heard something in her tone, something imminently not right, because he began to thrash.

Feral hopped up on the bed, and rode him down, pinned him to the mattress. "What's the matter?" she drawled in his ear. "Don't you recognize your old fling?"

Slowly, his struggles weakened. "What…?" he gasped.

"A paralytic," she replied coolly, "It seemed fair considering you paralyzed me that night, trapped me in that place, took away my decisions, my trust, the last shred of naiveté I possessed."

"How many others?" Teva wondered idly as Frederick's body stopped responding to his commands. "I was the fourth, right? So how many more? What number was Nell Parsons?"

He blinked at her, looking furious, but silent. She'd taken away his voice like he'd taken hers, and Nell's, and who knew how many others.

Leaning in so they were almost nose to nose, Feral cooed, "I'm going to make you pay. You took something from me that I'll never get back, but I can have my revenge." Rubbing the tip of her nose along his, she sighed, then chuckled darkly. "You really should have been a little more careful with who you chose to rape."

Laughing, Feral hopped off the limp body and went to turn on the dim lamp on the nightstand, then went back to her bag. Hauling the heavy black backpack up onto the bed, she began to unpack, humming cheerfully as she did so. "And really," she scolded, "You should have known better than to leave such a distinct signature. Eventually someone was going to find you based on that alone." With a little grin, she pulled out a tool roll, picking out the knot, and unrolling it on the bed, displaying it prominently.

The metal glittered. Different sized blades, something that looked like a waiter's corkscrew, pliers, and pins, and other strange instruments. There might have even been an old curling iron present. Well's eyes widened, the greatest expression of fear he was currently capable of.

The next object she removed was a folded plastic square, which she shook out and began to lay down on the floor. "So," she asked idly, "What do you want me to take off first? The other man who forced me, I started with his fingers and worked my way up. Then when I got to the ends of his arms, I started over with his toes. It took a long time. He screamed a lot. The paralytic's for more than just a twisted sense of retribution."

Feral didn't wait for a response, because she knew there wouldn't be one. The drug had his body in its grip now. He'd be unable to speak or to move, but he would experience every excruciating moment of torment. Smiling, she removed a large container of acid from the bottom of the bag, turning it just so to display the label to her captive.

"No one will ever find you," she whispered cruelly. "It's more than you deserve. Death, that is. You see, death is a release of a sort. Your torment ends. You die and you go wherever dead souls go, or if you don't really believe in all that, then you just cease to exist."

Picking up something that looked a little like an ice cream scooper from the roll, Teva held it up in the air, pressed the button twice so Wells could see that there, in the bottom of the strangely shaped spoon, there was a blade. "If it were up to me-if I had enough time, that is-I'd keep you alive for weeks. Maybe make it the same amount of girls you've abused just for a little bit of poetic justice." A little moue of displeasure appeared on her face. "However, I don't, and frankly I'm not interested in trying to haul your dead weight out of this building to a secure location where we can be alone…where I can hear you scream."

Those eyelids peeled back even more, fluttering in fear. Feral rolled her eyes in response, and tossed back the bedcovers, yanking Frederick Wells onto the carpeted floor where he collapsed on his face, and the rest of his body followed him down awkwardly bent. Lifting him under his arms, she dragged him onto the plastic, letting him collapse there on his back.

Bringing her tools back, she knelt next to him. Pulling out one of the bigger knives so he could feel the cold press of it against his skin, Teva began to cut away his clothes. "You know, I always wondered what kind of spineless piece of shit has to drug a girl in order to fuck her. Now I know. Daddy always thought you were too soft, didn't he? Worried you were gay. And mama had you tied to her apron strings, I bet, but she ruled with an iron fist, didn't she? Wasn't exactly the kind, gentle woman from the trids, was she?" Feral set the scraps of his wife beater aside, then moved onto his pajama pants. "I bet she emasculated you every chance she got, just like every girlfriend you had when you first started dating. At least until you learned to pick the weak, submissive ones. Or maybe the drugs are the only way you can get it up. Does it make you feel like a man when they can't fight back?" Her knife slid along his legs, the lightweight cotton sleep pants parting with a tearing sound down the seams. As she got close to his balls, a smell permeated the air. Bitter, acrid, and full of fear.

Feral wrinkled her nose and drew back. "Did you just piss yourself?"

She paused, then started laughing, sitting back on her heels. "Oh god," Teva wheezed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "So now I know you're also a coward too. Tell me, did you wet the bed when you were little?"

His eyes told her the truth of that.

"I wonder…" she drawled, swirling the tip of her knife over his limp organ and the scraps of fabric left lying over him, "Did somebody touch you wrong? Daddy, maybe? No." Teva shook her head, smirking with sudden clarity. "No, it was mama, definitely." Those eyes widened again. Hit the nail on the head.

Very carefully, she drew a line of blood on the inside of his thigh. "No excuse," she hissed. "Hundreds, no, thousands of people are sexually abused. They don't all become monsters. They don't all choose to continue the cycle of violence and hatred."

Standing back up, Teva put her knife away. "You know, I was going to torture you until you died. Feed you stimulants to keep you awake. But now that I'm here, now that I'm looking at you, I find that I just don't have the energy." With a disparaging look in her eyes, she sneered, "You're pathetic. Hardly worth the effort. I can think of a quicker way to get this done."

Hands on the plastic, she dragged her burden into the master bath, and flicked the light on. It took a moment, but eventually Feral got him lifted into the tub, and put the stopper in place.

"It's a concentrate," she winked, and turned on the faucet.

Gliding back out of the bathroom, Teva went to fetch the acid on the end of the bed, stopping for a moment as she considered if she really wanted to do this.

For five years she had waited for revenge, a burning pyre of rage.

Now that it was upon her, she merely felt tired, and a little sad. Angry more at the world than at Frederick in particular. "One less demon," she sighed, and brought the heavy container back into the bathroom.

Maybe if she could have guaranteed that he'd never do it again, she would have turned and walked out of the apartment, left him there paralyzed and sitting in his own urine. But Teva knew she couldn't. Eventually he'd get comfortable again, and feel safe, and Frederick Wells would return to his old ways, taking advantage of young girls too dumb to realize that behind his charming smile lurked a predator, and somewhere deep within that, a horribly damaged little boy. He would never stop. There would always be more victims, more girls with tally marks cut into their flesh.

She opened the cap on the acid, and poured it in the tub, watched it bubble and eat through clothes and skin.

When the look of agony in his eyes grew too much for even her to bear, Feral did the kindest thing she'd done in her life. She screwed the suppressor on her pistol, and put a bullet in his head.

And felt nothing. No satisfaction, no remorse, just the cool emptiness that embraced her whenever she killed.

It took hours of clean-up, and some staging, but eventually Frederick Wells was no more. All people would think when they came to his apartment was that some clothing was missing, as well as his light valuables. Using his cred account on the Matrix, she purchased a ticket to Morocco, a no-extradition country, and checked him in online. All anyone would ever conclude was that he'd fled the country in fear of facing prosecution.

* * *

><p>Why hadn't she followed through with her plan?<p>

It bothered Feral, this unexpected softness toward a man who had drugged her, raped her, _marked_ her like fucking cattle.

She had gone there with the full intention to torment him to death. After all, she'd inflicted the same fate on another man, and his only crime was to force her to kneel before him and fellate him. Hell, as she'd done it, she had wished it was her date-rapist, a man whose name at the time she could not remember, whose face was blurred by substances.

So why when confronted with this pathetic excuse for a man, for a monster, had she given him such a merciful death?

And it _was_ a mercy in comparison to what she'd had planned.

Even after he was being dissolved alive, his eyes had carried such pain—_put me out of my misery_—that she'd been unable to ignore it. Yes, Teva had wanted him dead, but not for her.

No, she realized with a start, looking down at the bubbling pink waters, she had well and truly accepted what had happened to her. She'd made it a part of her foundation, and used it to become a stronger person. For awhile it had held her imprisoned, as paralyzed as Frederick Wells was after she'd injected him. It had kept her from making connections, from living life, because her bedmate was fear, and it was a possessive, greedy lover.

Strangely, it was the events at Horizon that had been the catalyst in setting her free. The worst had come to pass, or almost come to pass, and she had survived it, overcome it completely intact. She was _okay_. After that the fear that had plagued her constantly for five years finally began to dissipate.

She took no pleasure knowing that Wells was suffering, dying slowly, excruciatingly. With a sudden sense of closure, Teva realized that she simply wanted it to be over.

She wanted the Nell Ann Parsons of the world to be safe from this man. She wanted Frederick Wells to be safe from himself, his impotent rage at his mother snuffed out of existence. She wanted those other girls to go out and not be afraid that the person sitting across from them on a blind date meant them harm.

So she shot him in the head, and let the acid finish its cleansing.

* * *

><p>Teva turned the shower off, and stepped out onto the bath mat, wrapping herself up in an oversized green towel.<p>

She wiped the condensation off the mirror, and surveyed her face. Still a little round with a stubborn chin, and doll-like nose. Her lips still formed that perky little rosebud no matter how long she kept them thinned out and pressed tightly together. There was still a silver barbell pinching the skin near her right eye.

Looking at her own visage clearly it seemed for the first time in years, Teva decided that she could be an angel, maybe, if angels were fierce as well as kind, warriors and heralds. If angels wore blood and bruises as easily as they did their virginal white robes and wings.

Perhaps an avenging angel was more suited to this world anyway.

"_You crave the violence…"_

Turning away from the mirror, Teva flicked off the light behind her. As she walked back to her bedroom, she thought maybe she'd sign her next letter as Michael. The moniker, she decided, sat a little more comfortably.

_Yes. Yes, I do._

* * *

><p>-FIN-<p> 


	7. Letters to a Lost Love

Letters to a Lost Love

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: cussing, sensual talk

Archive: Ask

Author: Alex Kade and Lily Zen

* * *

><p>Notes: The collaboration piece that goes along with the events of <em>An Angel<em> and _Slaying Demons_ (by Alex Kade).

thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun stuff belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

><p><em>My dear, sweet Juliet,<em>

_Was it not a demand passed through thine own lips that our love not end in tragedy? I ask a question now, its nature rhetoric and yet screaming of literal embodiment through its raw and reddened throat, what is love if not the very definition of tragedy? Lady Love, that cruel mistress, 'tis but the jealous offspring of gorgon and siren, born heartless so that she may carve her blood-black talons through flesh and bone and steal the hearts of man._

_Theft of heart, that most fatal wound, and yet man will give it willingly for Lady Love's embrace; and once it is hers she dances with it to the siren song while her helpless, hapless victims watch on, entranced, bleeding crimson into the dirt at her feet, their faces growing ashen even as they smile around their last breath of precious life._

_I am but another hapless victim, surrendering my soul to Hades so that Lady Love may add my heart to her collection. A worthy vessel she has placed it in, cupped in the hands of an angel, a most beautiful creature filled with the essence of everything the sun offers to a darkened world. I fear not for my heart as long as it is held within that fair maiden's grasp, giving it new life it had never known while imprisoned within mine own breast, caught in a tempest it could never escape if left to its own power of will. My only fear is that Lady Love will grow weary of looking at it, and thrust it back into its cage where it shall wither and die without the touch of the angel's gentle hands._

_How fair you, my sweet angel? If the sun should cry only one more tear of happiness, my only wish would be that it shall fall upon thine lips, and that perhaps I could be blessed with its ambrosia taste once more through our reunion._

_I fear my own quest for vengeance has not been as forgiving as I dared once believe. Demons from the past rise up at the wakening of the silver moon and I grow weary of their nightly visits. It is with humble regret that I must inform thee, my dearest guardian, that I have fallen once again to the need for a crooked crutch. I give thee my confession with a heavy regret, for the shame I feel cannot be countered with something so simple as an apology, but I must strive for forgiveness. I am weak, my love, too weak to ward of the temptations of mint chocolate chip, cookie dough ice cream. Please forgive this stumble into the coping mechanisms meant only for the heartbroken woman, and tell me thou shalt hold my heart still even should my teeth rot from my very head, fallen to the pick-axe wielding imps housed within the cookie dough balls._

_I scribe to you now, my love, in hopes of escaping the imps and the demons, offering to thee pieces of my soul to hold safe along with my heart. If thou deign me worthy to offer a part of thy self in return, send your pigeon's flight to my trusted messenger. Thou should know Balthasar well, feasting upon his foreign stews and laughing at his inappropriate jokes (made at my expense, no less!)._

_And so I wait with baited breath for word from my lost love._

_Forever yours,_  
><em>Romeo de Montague<em>

* * *

><p><em>Good sir,<em>

_Pray tell who is this Juliet of which you spake? The beauty and eloquence with which you have described her bring to mind the image of a sweet, untested girl-child. Surely no true woman can hold a candle to the angel whom you have described! Surely she cannot exist, this chaste scrap of heaven whose lips taste of sunshine pressed against thine!_

_Whomever she is, I must confess a shameful existence of jealousy. If such a woman existed, your turn of phrase would surely drive her to impure thought if not impure deed._

_However, I regret to inform you that there is no Juliet. There never was; there never shall be. If you have a sincere wish for a poison-and-a-stabbing kind of death, then you will not find here a willing participant._

_If you find yourself in need of comfort and companionship, you may correspond with me instead. I know I am no angel, nor a living embodiment of light. I am but a woman, weak and mortal, with an equally fervent passion for ice cream._

_You may call me Rosalind._

* * *

><p><em>Dearest Rosalind,<em>

_A clever change in tale, indeed, and one most suited to our plight. Does that, in turn, make me the young Orlando?_

_Whatever moniker thou choose to bear, deny it as you may, my love, forever thou shall always be my angel and my savior; my sun that dries the darkened path built upon mine blood and muddied by my tears; my light, my guide, my guardian; my hope that soon the night will end and I might see the blue-bright sky again._

_Tonight I am in need of light more so than most, as twas this day that I crossed paths with that very foul demon who stole my light away. I followed him today, my sweet, I followed him to Hell's dark gates and waited on while blood was poured and silent screams rang through mine own dark memories. The demon never stops, I fear, never ceases in his hunt for pain, his thirst for crimson wine, his lust for the beating of a fading heart. If Hell does cater to such evil whims, I will not stand and let the blood of innocents be spilled. Another quest, another danger, another day before I can return to thine embrace, but I must know. If there is but a single babe chained within that Hell, I will not rest until he can be freed. Mine is not the only demon, after all._

_Too much was stirred from this encounter. I am restless, craving blood to darken my blade. Claudius did sit before me, nestled safe upon his thrown inside his stony cave, mocking me with its proximity to mine own childhood grave. It will not last. A twist in plot shall be revealed, and I shall be the Ghost of Denmark sent to haunt not Hamlet, nay, but drive the madness into Claudius. A man worn weary from lack of sleep, a path I know too well, will fall to the makings of his own insanity. I will drive him to the cold, wet ground, terror bound, weeping for forgiveness that shalt not be found._

_I am the tragic Ghost of Denmark. I am Hamlet. I am Horatio. I will have revenge, and I will walk away to tell the tale._

_Until then, my angel, I bid thee well._

_Bearer of Vengeance, Herald of Death,_

_I sign with only a promise that I am yours._

* * *

><p><em>Most Beloved "Mine,"<em>

_I burn along with you. This world has a cancer in its marrow, and demons everywhere. Hell is not a place made of fire and brimstone buried beneath the earth. It is made of the hearts and minds of men, of their diseased and twisted souls. Take your vengeance, be the Herald. I can wait._

_You say you are in need of light. I give you heat as well._

_The sun is brutal this day. The pavement glitters as it beams upon it without mercy. There is no place to hide. The air is heavy with moisture, and inspires one to laziness, even one such as me. Is it hedonistic to luxuriate in the sensual pleasure of the sunlight on my bare skin? Should I be concerned with prying eyes as I recline on my high perch? I admit to you that I am not. Perhaps there is a bit of the exhibitionist in me, because my only concern is to turn every fifteen minutes and not fall asleep._

_Sweat coats my skin like the morning dew on the grass, and creates a marinade, slowly cooking me. I find that I do not particularly care. I want to be slow-roasted in the sun, to absorb every precious drop of its ambrosia that I can._

_There is something unbearably freeing about knowing that your nude form is on display in the middle of a metropolis, and no one knows, no one thinks to look on the top of that tall tower at the chair by the door. If I confess that I am more than excited by this, does that make me a bad woman? A harlot? A voluptuary?_

_If you were with me here on this sticky summer day, I openly admit that I would attempt to seduce you. Right here, like this, precariously reclined and hardly what I would call hidden. But you, my sweet, are hunting demons, so I'll have to entertain myself until we may reunite._

_You ask for light; I give you heat._

_Wishing you a swift conclusion (for purely selfish reasons),_

_Rosalind_

* * *

><p><em>Tell me, my angelic minx,<em>

_Does my heart dance within your hands? Were it trapped within my chest I would be telling it to still!_

_Oh, shameless tease, thou dost distract me well. Here I was prepared to scribe a tale of my most dull and waiting days, having scored a single mark against the demon that I hunt; but words are lost with my temptation. To throw it all away right now and hasten to your perch, to taste the sun upon your flesh, to gaze upon such beauty that my angel doth display, I nearly weep with those desires; and I say this with a longing smile and thoughts of graphic, impure nature._

_A better man would hold his tongue, would keep such thoughts inside their pen away from thine fair maidens' sight. Should better men do feast their eyes upon my lovely maiden's sun-bathed flesh, I fear that I would lose what gentle nature I possess. A gentleman I may not be, but neither gentle lady do thou claim to be._

_With that in mind I do confess that thine bold words and bolder acts have caused another demon to arise. This one, though, I leave to thee, for restless it shall be until the talents of thy woman's skill do settle it to rest._

_And then the talent of thy woman's skill shall make it rise again at thine command. With a chuckle and a shameless grin I do dare hope to live this fate, and quest for demon blood no more._

_I hold thy letter dear, my sweet, to burn in memory so that my dreams this night shall only be of thine reminder of what there is to come._

_In return for thine token of heat, I gift thee color. A hobby of old, a pastime of new, I paint my soul in simple shape with purpose most can't see. Please do accept apology for gifts that I do lack; Michelangelo I dare not claim to be. Upon this page I thought of thee and mine own rising from the dark at your embrace. To keep it dear, to toss away, it is yours to admire or yours to gain amusement from at mine own childish whims. Just know that when I painted thee, the nightmares stayed away._

_Until we meet again, my love, where next my vengeance shall be on thee for filling my mind with lustful thoughts._

_Forever yours I shall remain,_

_Your hopeless, pining Ferdinand_

* * *

><p><em>Rosalind,<em>

_Forgive me of my haste, for I reply before receiving correspondence from thine hand. I have good news to tell, for which I am excited in my need to share with thee._

_First, thou may be pleased to know that this one man need not crash down the gates of Hell. I did dare cross the River Styx where I found not a ravished babe, but did therein befriend a youth whom I could not dare leave behind. I have made myself another foe, of that I can be certain, but I have yet again succeeded in the path to be as you proclaimed. That boy did treat me as his hero, which by itself would be enough to please this withered soul, but there was more reward than that. I stole away my demon's pet, his favored living doll, carted off to live where he will not be touched again by hungry claws._

_Score another mark for me, and that puts me ahead._

_Then add a third for I did conquer my own fear, a task that I had failed once before. The demon's lair is full of bitter tastes, a place of dreadful memories I wished not live again. The very air did make me ill, a noxious gas of waking dreams in my mind's fit of terror. A one-time failure, followed by today's success, the seeds were planted on this day and twas my turn to play the haunting spirit. An apparition of ghostly self, thought murdered by my demon's hands, with use of that same very trick that won thee back from our first fight._

_Oh, my love, if thou were here to see his face! A magic trick he tried employ to rid his cave of spirits. This shall be my upper hand, to drain the mage and leave the man without his ghastly weapon. Is it wrong that I take pleasure from the thought of his demise with such overwhelming glee? Does that in turn make me a demon, or does revenge taste just this sweet?_

_Either way, I shall prevail without a guilty heart. I place a kiss upon this page in promise that our lips shall touch in truth before the light of next full moon, for I am nearly done. Unless, of course, the stubborn man is made of sterner brick, but I am optimistic, love, for he has broken faster than I did think he would._

_I bid thee a good night, my sweet, for I must force myself to rest to be prepared for days of torment against my very tormentor._

_I sign this night with all the names of all who triumph over evil, and all who have a woman's love to turn to when they're through._

* * *

><p><em>Orlando, Herald, Ferdinand, Ghost of Denmark, whomever you may be today,<em>

_Your gift hath pleas'd thine beloved. It hast been properly framed and fitted, and ensconced upon the plaster adjacent to the pallet where mine own crown is laid to embark on Morpheus' journey. However, mine humble artist, the piece lacks one thing, a tiny detail in the grand scheme of things: a signature. No expert in the arts am I, but I do believe it is tradition to mark thy works with a seal of some kind. You must indulge me whence thine arrival in my kingdom comes to pass._

_Sincerest apologies for failing to reply to each of your letters individually. I am busy this day, and have been for many moons prior to. You have your demons; I have mine, granted name and face through modern invention. So thine belov'd Rosalind has fled this host for a time to make room for a colder mistress. Who remains, I cannot say. Certainly not Ganymede, and there are no angels here either. A demon of mine own, perchance?_

_Does one become evil by opening oneself up to it? Is this a case of possession? Will my spirit be satisfied by this one death? Shall it return to dormancy? Will Rosalind come back?_

_I cannot answer these questions. Not now, at least; and I cannot turn my back and walk away. I am not strong enough to forgive and forget. Surely you understand this sentiment. The beast demands its pound of flesh as recompense, and then some. There is a reason men are warned of women scorned. True, this phrase is oft cited in matters of love, but if love and war are two sides of the same coin, does it not also apply to this crux?_

_Now we have both become tools for vengeance, hands of god. The parallel brings a slight ironic twist to my lips._

_Fight well, and return to me as I attempt to do the same for you._

_Alecto_

* * *

><p><em>Going with Furies now, huh? That's good, works well for what we're doing. You'll probably have taken the fucker out by the time you get this. Hope you got in an extra hit or stab or shot or whatever you're doing for me. I'd say I wish I was there to help you, but I'd just tarnish the moment.<em>

_I was right. I was right all along. I __am that old cliché that shows and movies have been using since, fuck, forever. I'm doing that whole vampire who slays other vampires thing. You know what never works out for those guys? The whole being in love thing. It's dangerous. There's always that trigger._

_I learned today that my demon comes from a long family line. "It's in our DNA" he said. I'm killing the person I could become someday. A phone call. All it took for him was a phone call. I think I remember making a Jekyll and Hyde reference a long time ago. It could be just like that. It was for him. Might've been for my cousin. That could've been why he offed himself. I'd thought about that before, even wrote it in my journal, but I never really thought it was true. Maybe it was._

_What do I do? Knowing that it's in my blood, that a stupid aerated drug had brought it out in me once, not knowing if there's another trigger floating around somewhere, what do I do with that? I want to be responsible, but I'm not sure what that means anymore._

_A few more days and I'll have him where I want him, I know that much. Just not sure what to do with myself after that. I'll try not to do anything drastic until I hear from you, and you need to try to think rationally about this. If my trigger is pulled again you know you'd be the first to suffer from it._

_I'm sorry._

* * *

><p><em>B,<em>

_Don't be an idiot. You're letting him get to you._

_I know you. I know who you are. You're not a rapist or a child molester. You've already proven that._

_I know Horizon was a bad time for you, that it brought a lot of your issues back to the surface, but if you bothered to analyze it the way I have-a thousand times over and over, through each excruciating moment-maybe you'd see what I did. The reason why I forgave you wasn't because we met up again and I realized how awesome you were. I'd already let go of it before then._

_You hesitated._

_You had me pinned, helpless beneath you, and there was a second where you hesitated, when I saw the thoughts shift behind your eyes, changing too fast to catch like fish underneath the water. You could have gone for my clothes. Instead, you let me turn the moment from sex to violence. Maybe not consciously, but there was definitely some urgent need buried there inside of you to not __do that._

_Hell, I practically told you that I like it rough, and you still wouldn't go there. Frankly, you're the gentlest man I've ever been with. It freaks me out a little, if I'm honest. I'm not used to being treated with such delicacy._

_I know who you are, so stop with the self-doubt and melodramatics._

_Just come home. Please._

* * *

><p><em>Where are you?<em>

_Don't tell me you've gone off the deep end._

_It's been a week, and no reply._

_I'm worried._

_Maybe this a long shot, but I tried your comm and it's disconnected. I've got no way of contacting you, but this._

* * *

><p><em>B,<em>

_I swear to god, if you're pulling some "I'm leaving you for your own good" crap, I will hunt you down and come up with unpleasant punishments._

_This isn't nice. Where the fuck are you?_

_Reply, you asshole. Please._

* * *

><p><em>Fine. Last letter.<em>

_Either something's gone wrong, you've disappeared to "save me" from the evilness lurking inside of you, or you finally committed suicide the right way._

_So fuck you._

_Fuck you for making me love you, and then leaving me just like everybody else._

* * *

><p><em>I am not sure I should be writing, but it was not fair to keep you in the dark.<em>

_We have not seen or heard from your Romeo in weeks. I put your letters in the box but he does not come for them. I am now keeping them safe in my home in case he returns._

_I would like to tell you not to lose faith or hope, and I and my husband have not, but it is for you to decide. There was...news. The men that came here looking for him, they were arrested for a murder in the park almost a week after I sent the last letter. The victim was nameless, but it was not our lost lamb. It was an older man. I do not know if this has anything to do with mijo's disappearance, but to know those men were capable of such brutality... I will keep my heart open for good word, but I admit that part of me fears the worst._

_That is all I have. I wish I could tell you more, and if there is more news you will be the first to know. In the meantime, I wish you well, my sweet child. We will pray for you both._

_Mrs. Reyes_

* * *

><p>-FIN-<p> 


	8. Mourning Morning

Mourning Morning

Fandom: Shadowrun

Pairing: Feral/Ghost, Feral/Red

Rating: R

Warnings: frank discussion of sexual topics, drug abuse, depression, self-harm, violence

Archive: Ask

Author: Lily Zen

* * *

><p>Notes: Takes place after An Angel. Companion pieces include <em>Eye for an Eye<em> and _Steps on the Road_ by Alex Kade.

Go check out The Beta Branch- thebetabranch (dot) prophpbb (dot) com

Disclaimer: Shadowrun stuff belongs to Shadowrun peeps. Original characters belong to Alex and me.

* * *

><p>Brandon was gone.<p>

She was certain of it before even receiving Mrs. Reyes' letter, but now she was sitting there holding the definitive proof in her hands. Wavery lines in old-style cursive on a piece of manila stationary, the kind people kept in their kitchens and tore sheets off of to write themselves little to-do lists. 'We have not seen or heard from your Romeo in weeks.'

Her soycaf was cold. She dumped it out in the sink, ground her half-smoked cigarette out in the ash tray, and went back to bed.

Teva pulled the covers over her head, and just…just breathed. She just made herself keep breathing, deeply, evenly, counting to ten in her head like she was doing reps until she fell back asleep.

* * *

><p>She'd been doing so well. Letting herself be angry at Bran for his radio silence was better than giving into the insidious despair that threatened at times to overwhelm her. As long as there was no confirmation, he could still be alive, maybe. She could picture him living somewhere sunny and happy, free of the painful reminders of his hard life.<p>

She could live with being left behind. That wasn't exactly new to her. Tamsin had left; her mother had left. Everybody eventually left Teva behind. She wasn't quite why that was. Maybe her act of strength and self-sufficiency was just too good for even those she loved to see the truth of the matter; how soft she was, how needy.

Teva had been able to continue on with daily life when she imagined Bran being incommunicado as just another person who had decided to leave her. She acted like she would with any break-up, meaning that she ate a pint of ice cream in one sitting, got angry, and behaved waspishly toward everyone unlucky enough to cross her path.

Then Mrs. Reyes' letter came.

Things weren't quite so cut and dry anymore. She couldn't go on deceiving herself. Brandon was dead. He'd have never left without saying goodbye to the Reyeses. He might go on occasionally about how he had nothing and no one, but the fact was that he adored the elderly couple that lived down the hall from him, and he would never just disappear from their lives and leave them to worry about him.

He might disappear from Teva's, but he would never vanish on the Reyeses.

So it was with a sense of crushing loss that Teva went to bed and stayed there. Part of her was disgusted with her own behavior, and tried to kick her own ass out of bed. "Stop acting so pathetic," she'd bemoaned. With her shade drawn, the room was nearly pitch black, and it was impossible to tell time or the passage of it. She existed from one inhalation to the next, from each subsequent realization that Bran was really dead and the corresponding bout of tears, and tried desperately to make herself stop feeling, stop being.

It was with a sense of irony that she turned to the narcotic slap patches she always kept on hand, and whatever alcohol she had in the house. Anything to make herself numb again.

She put her comm on silent, and holed up in her room, ignoring calls and knocks and whatever else.

For her, the world had stopped.

* * *

><p>The pounding outside of her cave had finally ceased, and Teva released the pillow over her head with something like relief. Finally. Geezus, she'd never been this popular before, so what the fuck was going on that now people were literally beating down her door to get at her?<p>

Fuck them. People needed to learn how to take a hint. She wasn't interested in company. She didn't want to fucking talk. Teva didn't want to have to pretend everything was okay, because it was so fucking far from okay, it was breaking her heart.

"What the fuck is going on?" the deep, sonorous voice penetrated her cocoon of blankets—her blanket burrito, a sad inner voice reminded her—with somehow more furiousness in it than a bellow could have conveyed. "I have been calling and calling you for weeks, Teva."

The blankets were ripped away. Her numb hands could barely hold onto the fibers, only feeling them slip through her fingers with a faint burning sensation.

She blinked, and stared at Madden, who frankly was looking at her like he was torn between throttling her and pitying her once his eyes took in the sight of her.

"What the fuck?" he growled, and grabbed her wrist, yanking her up to a sitting position. "Teva, your plants are all dying; everyone is worried about you; you've been out of contact for weeks; I've been trying and trying to get through to you, but I just keep getting your mailbox. You smell, and you're dirty, and is that a fucking bottle of vodka in your bed?"

She swayed, and almost fell back down onto the mattress, but a hard jerk kept her upright.

The troll glowered at her. "And what the fuck is this?" Carelessly, he stripped off one of the slap patches on her arm.

Weakly, Teva tried to pull away, but she just didn't have enough energy in her to fight him. Madden was enormously strong. Even at her best, she'd never be able to take him in a fair fight. With his curling horns, and strangely colored skin, frowning thunderously at her, she easily saw why people feared him. He was tall, so very tall, almost a foot taller than her, and broad, covered with thick muscle that was strangely beautiful on him. His thick, dark hair was pulled back, as per the usual, leaving the austere lines of his face and glittering bone deposits over his arched eyebrows bare. His goatee was well-groomed, and Teva thought with a cool, detached air that he looked a little like what she'd expect Satan to appear as. All he was missing was a tail.

"Teva," he shook her out of her daze, "I am talking to you! Say something, you fucking bitch!"

Frowning, she wet her parched throat, and sighed, "He's dead."

It was the first time she'd said anything in days, and the first time she had declared the knowledge aloud. The pain of hearing those words aloud was astounding. It took her breath away, and her face screwed up in agony.

Madden's grip eased, and he tilted up her chin, staring down into her small, pale face, seeing the devastating look reflected there in her dark, honey-colored gaze. "Who's dead?" he finally asked, though it hardly needed to be asked. This was what he'd always feared in Teva, feared _for_ her, and known with a sense of finality that someday it would come to pass. His friend, his daughter, though not officially adopted, had closed herself off from the world, from her emotions, and Madden had always understood that when she finally let someone in, they'd be the only person whose loss would destroy her; the only person close enough to her heart with the power to do so.

Someone had hit her self-destruct button, and it could only be one person.

If Ghost had still been alive, he'd have wished he was dead, because seeing Teva like this brought every suppressed parental instinct to the fore. Madden would have liked to hunt that little bastard's carcass down, and flay his skin from his bones for this.

Instead, knowing that was a futile desire-an impotent wish for the man was already dead-Madden sat down on the edge of the bed, and tugged Teva into his arms. She settled there, so tiny and fragile, with her head on his chest. Carefully, he peeled the patches off of her arm, angry all over again as he saw the reddened rectangles of skin, all in a neat little row. He understood what she'd been trying to do, and it made him even more upset that he did, that he could hardly condemn her for her actions because he knew what it felt like to want to be numbed from the inside out, how you'd do anything to make the pain go away.

"He's dead," Teva repeated quietly.

A moment later she began to sob, and it was like somebody had uncorked a raging torrent of sorrow never given a voice. She shook, and wailed, and could barely breathe past the messy tears. It went on and on, seeming to never cease, only wane for a moment before starting up again like a terrible storm battering the mainland.

Madden did the only thing he could, holding her, rocking her slowly back and forth until her voice faded into hoarseness, and like a child, her breath evened out as she fell into unconsciousness. He didn't leave, knowing that was the last thing Teva needed at the moment. Instead, he leaned up against her padded gray headboard, and slid his fingers through her greasy hair. She'd need him when she woke again, need somebody to kick her ass out of bed, and get food in her system, and make sure she took a bath.

They'd start with the little things like that.

* * *

><p>A few hours later Teva stirred, glancing up at her pillow, then up further in order to actually look at his face. It seemed like Madden had fallen into a light doze, but woke up as she tried to escape his grasp. "Where are you going, kid?" he grumbled, and tightened his arms around her.<p>

She fell against his chest bonelessly with a little puff of air, then murmured into his cotton t-shirt, "To pee. I don't fancy having to clean the bed sheets. Do you?"

He grunted. "Not particularly," Madden quipped and released her. "Need any help?"

"Do I look like a fucking invalid?" she replied, but the words lacked their usual heat.

Her friend didn't answer her, just shot her a pointed look.

Teva rolled her eyes in response, and slithered off the bed to the bathroom. When she'd finished and had washed her hands, she emerged to find Madden puttering around in her kitchen officiously.

"Hold it right there," he barked over his shoulder.

Teva froze at the threshold to her bedroom.

Turning, he snapped his fingers and pointed at the breakfast counter. "Sit your ass down."

She thought about bearing her teeth at him, telling him to fuck off and leave her alone, but in the end any resistance seemed like too much effort. The easiest way to make him leave faster would be to simply comply. With that thought in mind, Teva obeyed the command, commenting internally that she was not a dog, dammit, but slumped in the chair none the less.

"Now, what do you want to eat?" he asked. The words came out gruff, yet caring.

His only answer was a shrug. Teva reached for her cigarettes, and lit one up out of habit. She exhaled, then set the cylinder down in the ash tray, and pillowed her head on her arms. She was still really out of it from all the pain meds, feeling lightheaded and floaty. Nothing much was penetrating the thick fog wrapped around her brain.

Madden observed her behavior with a frown, then told her sharply, "Fine, then you get whatever I make."

She didn't reply.

"Go take a fucking bath," he snapped and slammed around in her cupboards looking at her food stores.

Teva very slowly and deliberately turned one hand, raising her middle finger defiantly.

"Kid," Madden stated very slowly, each word spaced deliberately, "You do not want me to shove you in the shower, and scrub you down like some obstinate toddler. Trust me." He slammed a pan down on the counter, and willed her with his eyes to look up at him, to see the seriousness on his face. If nothing else, he figured Teva's pride would pipe up and tell her there was no way he was going to strip her down and hose her off. Finally, she glanced up at him, blinked, and sneered. It was a normal expression of distaste for her, and Madden was flooded with relief at seeing it.

Then she slipped off the stool, and headed back to the bathroom. The door slammed. A moment later the shower came on.

Madden sighed and turned back to the range, already having concluded what he was going to make.

Teva preferred fresh produce, and had some interesting trade arrangements with local home growers. He wasn't sure how she accomplished it, but there always seemed to be something whole and organic in her kitchen. This time it was a sweet Vidalia onion, which he sliced and fried up. Everything else was fake and canned, but by the time he was done he'd made hot "roast beef" sandwiches with mushrooms, onions, and provolone soy-cheese on toasted bread. He managed to scrounge up some frozen french fries too, and baked those.

By the time Teva was done, he was going to have such a fragrant feast ready she'd be hard-put to ignore it.

* * *

><p>Teva leaned her head against the wall, and let the water beat down on her. It was a little too hot, but she found that she didn't mind it. She imagined it was disinfecting her, killing off the germs on her skin.<p>

Yeah, okay. She'd let things slide a little more than she should have. She could admit that, at least to herself. But that was no reason for Madden to come busting in her apartment and hostilely take over her life. It wasn't like she was hurting herself, not really. She just needed a little vacation from reality until she could deal with this huge hole in her chest that was slowly growing wider and wider. She wondered if all her insides would just come spilling out eventually.

The searing heat and water sliding over her dirty skin felt surprisingly good. Teva raised her face up to the spray, and let it sluice off the oil that had built up there over the days. God, now that she was in the shower, she was actually paying attention to how disgusting she felt. Maybe Madden had been right to threaten to throw her in the shower if she didn't go willingly.

She reached for her shampoo, and squirted a dollop in her palm, then rubbed it into her hair until there was enough lather. After that had rinsed away, the conditioner followed, but just a little bit because it was highly concentrated and her hair was so short it barely needed any.

The whole process seemed to get a little easier the further she went, and she wondered if this was what it felt like to move on. Was she just supposed to keep going like nothing ever happened? It seemed that was what expected of her.

Once she had rinsed her skin clear of all traces of body wash, Teva turned off the water, and stepped out from behind the shower curtain to wrap herself in an oversized towel. Tucking the ends, the grieving adept emerged from the steamy bathroom to find herself bombarded with the smell of food.

Her stomach twisted, and warned her that she'd better feed it _or else_.

Obviously that had been Madden's intention all along, and she glared balefully at him as she went over to pick up the plate he'd set out for her.

She was about to take it back into her room when he serenely cleared his throat and informed her, "Eat at the table like real people."

Teva sighed, and shot him an exasperated look. "How long are you gonna keep this up?"

"Until you snap out of it," Madden replied, and took a precarious seat on one of the stools. "Life doesn't stop because we lose someone we love. Sorry, sweetheart, but that's the way things are. By the way, I watered your plants. You're welcome."

A moment later, she joined him at the breakfast counter. Halfway through her sandwich Teva finally muttered grudgingly, "Thanks."

* * *

><p>A few days later things were looking a little better. Teva was waking up on her own, and watering her plants all by herself.<p>

Madden had stealthily emptied the apartment of slap patches and liquor, and she was already threatening to take it out of his cred account. He didn't seem particularly upset by this.

That was when she happened to check her comm and notice the message from Ally, Switch's girlfriend. Migraines, no medication. She sent her Rip's number on the way to the grocery store, and had to hope that would be enough. Otherwise Teva wasn't opposed to transferring some money to Switch's account. It wasn't like she used it for much.

Picking out products at the grocery was a bittersweet process. It reminded her of the time she went shopping with Brandon, of course, and how they rode the scooters. It also brought to light that she was actually quite fond of grocery shopping, and food in general, and then she felt guilty because there she was having fun picking out fruit while Brandon was dead. Shit. Life just wasn't fair. She had finally found somebody who, well, was kind of perfect for her in a we're-both-fucked-up sort of way, and in an instant he was gone, and she was alone again.

Thoughts like that felt incredibly selfish, but she couldn't help having them.

She checked out, and went back home to put the groceries away, finding Madden asleep on her couch.

He'd stayed for the past few days, probably to make sure she didn't try to fling herself off the roof or something.

Teva kicked his thigh to make him wake up. "Hey, there's more groceries in my car downstairs. Go get 'em."

"Your apartment," he grumbled.

"You wanna sleep here? Eat my food? You schlep the groceries upstairs," she countered succinctly, setting the two bags on the counter, and beginning to unpack.

With a petulant huff, Madden levered his bulk off of the sofa, and tugged on his boots. A second later he was closing the door behind him.

Teva grinned. "Yup, I still got it," she chirped to the empty room, and shoved the mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer.

* * *

><p>No one could say that Teva didn't have her own way of doing things. She was an individual, and tempestuous, and often contrary in her reactions to things. If somebody tried to tell her what to do, a lot of the time she seemed to choose the exact opposite. It was a personality flaw, and one that she had no trouble acknowledging.<p>

So it came as no surprise when she moved backward through the stages of grief rather than in order. Depression melted into anger; fortunately, Madden had agreed she was well enough to be left at home without a babysitter, and gone home. Therefore, he wasn't around to watch her snap.

There was nothing special about the way it happened, or the moment. Nothing remarkable about it at all. One moment Teva was fine, running a comb through her hair after a shower, and the next minute she was so damn angry, she'd punched her left fist right through the mirror, and spiderwebbed the glass. Slowly, she became aware of a horrible sound coming from somewhere. High, unyielding, and rough. It took her a moment to identify the source as her own throat, and wide-open mouth.

Finally, it seemed, the uncharacteristic solemnity with which she'd found herself engulfed had abated, and underneath the icy silence lay a deep, embittered pit of rage. It was the beast the drove her, that occupied her core, the part of her that people rarely saw because if it did it meant they were about to die a horrible death.

As a 'runner, hot rage was a luxury she couldn't often afford. That kind of furiousness was a liability on a job, and it led to fatal mistakes being made. It was more practical to keep it all locked down, and hidden away where no one would see it. She wasn't sure what had put that deep cavern of molten lava within her, but she suspected it held the unexpressed effects of every moment in her life where she'd felt slighted, reduced, offended, and outright wronged on her own and others' behest. All of that anger had to go somewhere if it wasn't permitted a voice, at least that was her logic behind the reason for its existence.

Apparently, Brandon's death had finally broken through her defenses and unlocked the creature's cage, because now all she felt was wrath, all she dreamed of was making someone pay. The culprits, however, were already jailed, and lay safe in their cells. The uncle was dead. There was no one left to blame.

With deliberate intention, she dressed well that night in a short, fluttery skirt, with weapons hidden underneath her light jacket. Thinking practically, Teva eschewed heels for chucks. The outfit looked youthful, and with a set of headphones in her ears, she appeared to be a victim ripe for the plucking. She left the apartment that night, and began to walk, itching for blood, for a fight…for an unsuspecting target to channel all her hate.

* * *

><p>It didn't take very long before somebody decided that Teva and her sparkly purse were an attractive looking prospect. The closer she walked to the old projects, the more dangerous the neighborhood became. Treme was divided up into two parts: the "restored" section which was closer to the Quarter, and the part that was divvied up and owned by various gangs. It was into this section of the neighborhood that Feral boldly strode, daring them to come at her.<p>

And they did. She was just crossing into 9-8's turf when she noticed two younger guys in colors detach from a stoop and start keeping pace behind her. Teva kept her headphones in, even though they weren't on, and let them get a little closer, herding her along. She glanced over her shoulder pointedly, and sped up a little, knowing they would mistake the action for fear.

A third ganger stepped out between two buildings, the tag on his tipped ball cap reflecting in the streetlight. "Hey, girl, where you goin'?" he drawled, walking up with the stereotypical swagger of urban youth. His skin was so dark she could barely make out his facial features. That didn't matter. He didn't need to have a face.

Feral kept moving at him, picking up pace until she was close enough to get within swinging distance. His nose crunched under her already-damaged fist.

Sensing movement behind, she pivoted slightly, kicking one boy's knee out and driving her fingers underneath the other's ribs, twisting slightly to hit the nerve cluster that would cause him an unbearable amount of pain. He could hardly draw breath to scream, just released a choked, wounded noise and dropped to the ground.

Not letting herself feel the rush of victory yet, she kicked the kneeling would-be assailant in the head with her knee. The guy behind her grabbed a fistful of her denim jacket. With barely a pause, she cocked her arm, and struck him in the temple with her swinging elbow. "Bitch!" he shrieked, and let go of her clothing.

She laughed. There was nothing nice about it.

Grinning nastily, Teva turned slightly and wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling, twisting, and ducking her body all at the same time to dislocate his shoulder and throw him over her shoulder into his friend.

They tumbled to the ground like bowling pins.

Moving smoothly, the adept fished a cigarette out of her jacket pocket and lit it. "You guys should go to a hospital now," she rumbled, smoke escaping her lips in little puffs with every word. "Maybe this'll teach you a little lesson about bugging girls who just wanna get to where they're going."

"Fucking…cunt…" one of them wheezed. His fingers twitched, reaching for his waistband.

With a cheerful grin, she casually stepped on his hand, and bore her weight down on it. "Yeah," Feral agreed. Turning away with a little flounce, she walked off into the night, feeling a little better, a little high on life.

* * *

><p>The natural climax—pun definitely intended—to this high of course culminated in sexual arousal.<p>

Sex and violence. The two had always been closely linked for Teva. They were opposite sides of the same coin, just like love and hate.

There was something about fighting, about the rush of a battle, even as brief and inadequate as that one had been, that set her on edge. It always did, though in the past Feral had valiantly ignored it.

She was done being valiant, done with nobility. Who the fuck wanted to be an angel anyway? Teva lived here on earth, and couldn't—_wouldn't_—just shut that part of herself back down again. Brandon wasn't the only man who'd ever touched her, just the most recent. Chances were he wouldn't have been the last either. 'Runners, like law enforcement officers, and pretty much any career involving alcohol and attractive people, tended to have a pretty high turnover rate of significant others. Something about never being home and constantly being thrown into life-threatening situations…

Might as well get back on the horse now.

She thought about going to a bar and picking up a stranger, but couldn't bring herself to do it. The last time she'd attempted such a thing, she had wound up drugged and date-raped with a new set of scars.

So her thoughts turned to Red.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Feral was on his doorstep, ringing up to his apartment for entry. When he failed to answer after the first buzz, she leaned on the button.

A minute later his voice came at her through the intercom. "What?" he snapped.

"Let me up," she answered.

There was a long pause, then the video feed snapped on. "Feral?" She knew he was probably just verifying what his ears had already told him, and waved at the tiny camera lens by the door. "What the hell are you doing here? Are you in trouble?"

"Mm," she hummed, then held up her hand, palm flat, and wobbled it back and forth. "You gonna let me up or what?"

The door unlocked, and she proceeded quietly up the stairs to Red's floor.

He already had the door open as her she rounded the final flight of stairs, and was standing there in blue flannel sleep pants and a white t-shirt with his arms crossed. His stance didn't really look angry, but more like he was still half-asleep and very confused. That was a good sign. It'd probably be harder to convince him to have sex with her if he was upset. Red tended to get a little non-compliant when he was feeling bitchy.

"Hi," she chirped as she bounced up the last few stairs.

"Feral, what are you doing here?" He shook his head, strands of vibrant red hair from his sloppy ponytail sliding over the pristine white cotton.

"Can I come in first? This isn't really hallway-conversation material," she drawled as she came to a stop in front of him.

He raised his eyebrows.

Teva cocked one of her own in reply.

With a sigh, he waved her inside his apartment.

It was still neat, comfortable, and neutral, reeking of expensive taste. She toed her shoes off without being asked, slipped her jacket onto one of the empty coat hooks, and shrugged off her custom holster, setting it on the seat cushion of a recliner. The action left her in only a layered chiffon skirt, navy in color, patterned with tiny white flowers whose buds had vivid orange centers and miniscule polka dots, and a loose, white camisole without a hint of a bra underneath.

Red reset the locks on his apartment door, and turned to her expectantly.

She folded her arms underneath her chest. The action drew his gaze down, as she knew it would, and Teva nearly smirked as she saw him register the fact that beneath her hardly relevant shirt was nothing but bare skin.

When his eyes returned to her they were dark with the knowledge. "So?" he asked, keeping his voice clipped.

"So?" she mimicked.

He sighed. "Feral, what do you want? It's late. I was asleep. You don't look injured aside from the cuts on your hand. In fact you look kind of…well…"

As Red hesitated, Teva took advantage of the break. She dropped her protective stance, and put a hand on her hip. "I want to have sex," she stated succinctly. When his jaw dropped, she added for clarification, "With you. I want to have sex with you right now."

"Teva, I—" he stuttered, falling back into the habit of using her first name in his shock. "You—what?"

Responding with equal informality, Teva said slowly and with surprising gentleness in her tone, "Damon, you heard me the first time. Don't make me repeat myself."

"But you…" He cleared his throat, and straightened up, a hint of Red's usual cool aplomb settling over him. "I heard about Ghost."

_Madden. That gossip._

"Did you?" she raised her eyebrows curiously.

"Yes," he nodded succinctly. "My sincerest condolences."

"Thank you," Teva acknowledged with a little inclination of her chin. "If you'd like to give me a sympathy gift, get naked." Her grin was slow and hot, gaze matching the rest of her expression in intensity.

"Teva…" Red shook his head slowly. "You're grieving. This isn't exactly a good time for starting something new."

The look she shot him was scathing. "What? You think I'm trying to get all romantic with you?"

He winced.

Feral forged onward, saying lightly, "You had your chance. You all but said you didn't want me, couldn't give me what I _needed_. Well, my needs have changed. I don't need you to love me or even really like me. I just need you to get an erection." Stepping closer, and closer, she backed him up against the wall right next to the door, and looked up at him. The heat from his skin was so close to hers, seeping through her thin clothes. She grinned sassily. "I just wanna fuck," she whispered throatily. "No strings, no repeats. Just a one-time thing."

Reaching out, she laid her palm flat over his abdominals, and felt him breathing. He still looked indecisive, hesitant, but not outright refusing. Teva lowered her lashes, looking up at him coyly through the dark fringes. "Just a good time. Curiosity satisfied. You can go back to your eternal penance, and I'll move on with my life."

As Teva slowly ran her hand up his sternum, she confessed, "I'd have picked up a stranger tonight, but truthfully the thought scares me. I had kind of a bad experience when I was younger, and I've avoided that sort of thing ever since." She was downplaying it, of course. That night had crippled her, and it was only recently that she'd recovered enough to begin letting people get close to her again. "So what do you say, Red? Up for a one-night stand?"

Damon was still caught between two choices, doing what he felt was right, and doing what he simply felt like doing. She could read it in the pursing of his lips. Finally, he tried one last rallying defense. "But you're still in love with Ghost."

"And you're still in love with your dead wife," she replied quietly. With a soft smile, Teva confessed, "That doesn't mean we have to be alone tonight. Don't try and tell me you've spent all these years completely celibate."

The little smirk that involuntarily lifted his lips was answer enough. No, of course not. Red may have cut himself off from making any lasting connections, but he was above all other things a man. He'd never have given up sex, just the hope of anything deeper, meaningful. It was the reason that his attraction to her had frightened him. If he'd let himself get involved with Feral for real, then he would have had to give up the ghost of his wife. Teva would never have shared him, not even with a dead woman.

Back then, before Ghost, she had needed a lover, a boyfriend, somebody who cared and could show it. Red knew he couldn't give her that, so he'd turned her down and backed off. The epiphany made her feel a little sad, but mostly it was for him, not herself, not even for what could have been. A strange twist of fate had made his rejection work out all the better for her because she'd had the chance to be with somebody who not only could provide those things she needed and didn't even understand she was missing, but wanted to. Brandon had needed acceptance just as badly as she had, and miracle of all miracles they had found that safety and warmth in each other's presences.

And, Teva realized with a sudden swell of gratitude, even though their time together had been short and rife with other struggles, it had been worth it. Falling in love and _letting_ herself love Brandon had given her back an important piece of herself: the ability to care and to give, even when the possibility of being hurt by her openness was high.

She looked up, locking eyes with Damon, and thought to herself that she wanted to share that gift with him. It didn't matter what he chose to do with it.

"Damon," Teva began, her hushed voice laden with something warm and liquid, "I don't want to be alone tonight." _Do you?_ The question was unspoken, but she knew he heard it anyway.

Finally, Red let out a little sigh, and bent his neck, brushing his lips against her hair, her temple, and her cheekbone.

She raised herself up on the balls of her feet, and tipped back her head, offering her lips which he took with such gentleness that it made her ache in her heart.

Leaning his forehead against hers, the elf asked her, "Where do you want to do this?"

* * *

><p>They wound up in the bedroom. Not out of any need for sentimentality. In fact, Teva had reminded him with a little grin, "Remember, no stupid, girly emotions, got it?" No, the decision to have sex in the bed was purely practical. The couch didn't have enough room, and neither of them was in the mood for rug burn. Upon inspecting the dining room table, Feral had shot him a look and said baldly, "That's not gonna last."<p>

The two of them had debated the merits of fucking standing up, and when Red suggested doing her from behind, bent over the back of the recliner, the face she made was enough to make him drop it. "Maybe if I had a guaranteed encore performance," Teva had said slowly, her voice sticky and her gaze hot, "But if this is gonna be the one and only time, then I'd like to have a real partnership performance, not you doing all the work while I take it like a little bitch."

Ground rules were set. "You don't try and fuck me doggy-style, or 'help' me suck you off. I don't take it up the ass. Ever. Piss and shit belong in the toilet—don't make that face, some people are into that weirdness—and if you try to come on my face, I'll punch you in the kidneys and make you piss blood for the next week."

Those were Teva's rules.

"Fair enough," Red had said. "I don't like having my nipples licked or sucked, and don't touch my feet. That's weird. Also, don't bite my ears. The cartilage is a little thin in some parts and bleeds easily. I don't like pain. The only thing I enjoy like that is a little scratching or biting, but only when I'm close. I don't mind a finger in the ass when I'm getting blown, but more than that is a no-go."

She paused in the middle of unzipping her skirt, and raised an eyebrow. "If you want my finger up your ass, you better go wash it. I am not even joking."

"Are you saying you're going to suck me off?" he shot back with a little grin.

Teva frowned at him. "Not if you don't scrub your asshole."

With a little laugh, he walked out of the bedroom. The light flicked on in the bathroom, and narrowed to a thin band around the door as Red slowly shut it. Water ran.

She rolled her eyes, and finished unzipping her skirt, but left it on, sitting demurely on the edge of the bed. Part of her couldn't believe she was really doing this. The rest was like "whooo, doggy!" and yippie-kay-yay'ing internally with excitement.

Red returned a few minutes later, naked but for a white towel wrapped around his hips. "Do you require a personal examination?" he asked, and though Damon was grinning it was a serious question.

"You're fastidious," Teva shrugged. "I trust that your standards of personal grooming are high."

"I even brushed my teeth just now," he confessed with a little laugh.

And that was just too fucking adorable; she didn't know what to do with it. Finally, she just smiled and stood up. "You wanna help me get undressed or do you think that's skirting a little too close to the gray area?" Her skirt slipped a little low on her hips because of the opened invisible zipper in the back.

He chuckled, and helped her wordlessly, slipping the skirt down her long legs, and raising her camisole up over her head. Stepping back a little, he subconsciously licked his plump lower lip as he surveyed her tall, lean body, the golden color of her tan mostly faded from the days spent indoors, taking in the scars and muscle definition, and stopping at the edge of her navy blue panties. He glanced up again as he fingered the lace trimmed top, then pushed them off of her to leave them pool at her feet with her skirt.

While he was busy looking at her, Teva tugged off his towel and let it fall as well. Backing up onto the bed, she looked at him with a little question in her eyes, a tiny 'well?'

Red shook his head wryly and joined her, pulling her close with a hand cupping the back of her head so that he could kiss her again. This time there was no sorrow or mercy in it. He demanded and took, and she parted her lips and gave, feeling herself go liquid between her legs as Damon tugged her closer so that her legs fell open and she rode his thigh.

Her hands slid over his back and lower, then up to the hair she'd always been secretly fascinated with, tugging loose the thin ponytail holding it at the nape of his neck. Even as she slipped her fingers through his hair, his were finding her, swishing lazily over her clitoris in a deliberate tease. Teva panted and moaned into the kiss, and pressed on the soft spot at the base of his skull, feeling the tension he carried there release. He sighed and purred lowly, "Thank you."

She laughed, scraping her teeth very subtly over his lower lip, and drawled, "Don't thank me verbally."

With wordless consent, he nibbled his way down her neck and chest, and took command of her breasts, teasing lightly until she was shivering with both breath, lips, and fingertips, then drawing her puckered nipple into his mouth. The whole time he kept up that barely-there caress of her nether regions, and when he drew back, her dusky tip between his teeth, she seized up and came with a surprised squeak.

"Did you just—?" he drew back far enough to speak, but that was all Red could get out before Teva smashed her mouth down onto his.

"Shut up," she growled, and clasped her hands behind his back, tipping and rolling so his back hit the mattress and she settled over his hips, straddling him. Teva grinned, and offered him a black-covered pillow from the head of the bed. She chuckled at the look on his face, and explained, "Slip it underneath your hips. You'll be easier to get at."

The rest of the night was spent having great sex that somehow never got any more emotionally charged than 'friendly' and 'businesslike.' The goal was the mutual exchange of pleasure, and she and Red had always worked well together. Once they'd eliminated the risk of tripping over unresolved feelings, it was just nice, and just fun.

She left as the sun was coming up feeling sore in some place, but well-used. Strangely, Teva carried with her a strange sense of peace. She felt like she'd proven to herself that she could move on, that Brandon's death hadn't killed her, and it hadn't crippled her either. He'd taught her things, and those lessons would last.

Her presence had made a lonely man happy for a little while last night, and she realized that was really all anyone could hope for was a temporary respite from the harshness of life. She was going to take it as it came.

* * *

><p>Later that day when she was checking the mail was when she received her second letter from Mrs. Reyes. Teva slit open the envelope with a kitchen knife, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Three little lines tore her world apart and remade it.<p>

Just three little lines.

He was alive.

She barely realized she was laughing and crying until the ink on the paper got wet and began to run.

* * *

><p>-FIN-<p> 


End file.
